MY SUIT.

Faith! the Dandelion is

To my mind too lowly;

Then the winsome Violet

Is, forsooth, too holy.

There's the Touch-me-not — go to!

What! a face that's speckled

Like a buxom milking-maid's

Which the sun hath freckled!

And the Tiger-lily's wild,

Flirts, is fierce and haughty;

And the Sweet-Brier Rose, I swear,

Pricks you and is naughty.

Columbine a fool's cap hath,

Then she is too merry;

Gossip, I would sooner woo

Some plebeian Berry.

There's the shy Anemone,—

Well — her face shows sorrow;

Pale, goodsooth! alive to-day,

Dead and gone to-morrow.

And that big-eyed, fair-cheeked wench,

The untoward Daisy,

She's been wooed, aye! overmuch —

Then she is too lazy.

Pleasant persons are they all,

And their virtues many;

Faith, I know but good of all,

And naught ill of any.

Marry!‘ tis a May-apple,

Fair-skinned as a Saxon,

Whom I woo, a fragrant thing

Delicate and waxen.