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.