It looked like the great collar · just

About our young colt's neck.

Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice stole in and out,
As if they feared the light;
But O, she dances such a way!
No sun upon an Easter day
Is half so fine a sight.

Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
No daisy makes comparison;
Who sees them is undone;

For streaks of red were mingled there,

Such as are on a Cath'rine pear,
The side that's next the sun.

Her lips were red; and one was thin, Compared to that was next her chin,

Some bee had stung it newly;
But, Dick, her eyes so guard her
face,

I durst no more upon them gaze,
Than on the sun in July.

Her mouth so small, when she does speak

Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break,

My father had a daughter lov'd a

man,

As it might be, perhaps, were I a

woman,

I should your lordship.

Duke. And what's her history?
Vio.- A blank, my lord.

never told her love,

She

But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,

Feed on her damask cheek; she pin'd in thought;

. And with a green and yellow melancholy,

She sat like patience on a monument,

Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?

We men may say more, swear more; but indeed

Our shows are more than will; for still we prove

Much in our vows, but little in our love.

Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy?

Vio. I am all the daughters of my father's house, And all the brothers too.

And therefore little shall I grace my

cause

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,

I will a round unvarnished tale deliver

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,

(For such proceeding I am charged withal,)

I won his daughter with.

Her father loved me, oft invited me; Still questioned me the story of my life,

From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,

That I have passed.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days,

To the very moment that he bade me tell it:

Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,

Of moving accidents, by flood and field;

Of hairbreadth scapes in the imminent deadly breach;

Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,

And portance in my travel's history:

Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle.

Rough quarries, rocks,, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak, such was the process:

And of the Cannibals that each other eat,

The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads

Do grow beneath their shoulders.
These things to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline:
But still the house affairs would
draw her thence:

Which ever as she could with haste despatch,

She'd

come again, and with a greedy ear

Devour up my discourse: which, I

observing,

Took once a pliant hour, and found

good means

But not intentively: I did consent; And often did beguile her of her tears,

When I did speak of some distressful stroke

That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:

She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:

She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished

That heaven had made her such a man; she thank'd me; And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,

I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake:

She loved me for the dangers I had passed,

And I loved her that she did pity them.

This only is the witchcraft I have used:

Here comes the lady, let her witness it.

SHAKSPEARE.

ATHULF AND ETHILDA.

Athulf. - Appeared The princess with that merry child Prince Guy:

He loves me well, and made her stop and sit,

And sate upon her knee, and it so chanced

That in his various chatter he denied That I could hold his hand within

my own

So closely as to hide it: this being

tried

Was proved against him; he insisted

then

I could not by his royal sister's

hand

Do likewise. Starting at the random word,

And dumb with trepidation, there I stood

Some seconds as bewitched; then I looked up,

And in her face beheld an orient flush

Of half-bewildered pleasure: from which trance

She with an instant ease resumed herself,

And frankly, with a pleasant laugh, held out

Her arrowy hand.

I thought it trembled as it lay in mine,

But yet her looks were clear, direct, and free,

And said that she felt nothing. Sidroc. - And what felt'st thou? Athulf. —A sort of swarming, curling, tremulous tumbling, As though there were an ant-hill in my bosom.

I said I was ashamed. - Sidroc, you smile,

If at my folly, well! But if you smile,

Suspicious of a taint upon my heart, Wide is your error, and you never loved.

And whilst our souls negotiate there,

We like sepulchral statues lay: All day the same our postures were, And we said nothing all the day. If any, so by love refined,

That he soul's language understood.

And by good love were grown all mind,

Within convenient distance stood, He, (though he knew not which soul spoke,

Because both meant, both spoke the same.)

Might thence a new concoction take, And part far purer than he came. This ecstasy doth unperplex,

We said, and tell us what we love; We see by this it was not sex,

We see, we saw not what did

Thou the fuel, and the flame;
Thou in heaven, and here, the same;
Thou the wooer, and the wooed;
Thou the hunger, and the food;
Thou the prayer, and the prayed;
Thou what is or shall be said.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

ROSALINE.

LIKE to the clear in highest sphere
Where all imperial glory shines,
Of selfsame color is her hair,
Whether unfolded, or in twines:

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
Her eyes are sapphires set in snow,
Resembling Heaven by every wink;
The Gods do fear whereas they glow,
And I do tremble when I think

Heigh ho, would she were mine! Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud

That beautifies Aurora's face,
Or like the silver crimson shroud
That Phoebus' smiling looks doth

grace;

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Her lips are like two budded roses Whom ranks of lilies neighbor nigh, Within which bounds she balm encloses

Apt to entice a deity:

Heigh ho, would she were mine!

Her neck is like a stately tower Where Love himself imprisoned lies, To watch for glances every hour From her divine and sacred eyes:

Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Her paps are centres of delight, Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame,

Where Nature moulds the dew of light

To feed perfection with the same:

Heigh ho, would she were mine!

With orient pearl, with ruby red, With marble white, with sapphire blue,

Her body every way is fed,

Yet soft in touch and sweet in view:
Heigh ho, fair Rosaline!
Nature herself her shape admires;
The Gods are wounded in her sight;
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires,