w that none may buy
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which, when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rosebuds fill'd with snow;
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.

Her eyes like angels watch them still,
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threatening with piercing frowns to kill
All that approach with eye or hand
These sacred cherries to come nigh.
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry.

RICHARD ALLISON

_THE GARLAND._

THE pride of every grove I chose,
The violet sweet and lily fair,
The dappled pink and blushing rose,
To deck my charming Cloe's hair.

At morn the nymph vouchaf'd to place
Upon her brow the various wreath;
The flowers less blooming than her face,
The scent less fragrant than her breath.

The flowers she wore along the day;
And every nymph and shepherd said,
That in her hair they look'd more gay
Than glowing in their native bed.

Undrest, at ev'ning, when she found
Their odours lost, their colours past;
She chang'd her look, and on the ground
Her garland and her eye she cast.

That eye dropt sense distinct and clear,
As any muse's tongue could speak,
When from its lid a pearly tear
Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek.

Dissembling what I knew too well;
My love! my life! said I, explain
This change of humour; pray thee tell:
That falling tear.--What does it mean

She sigh'd, she smil'd; and to the flowers
Pointing, the lovely moralist said:
See! friend, in some few fleeting hours,
See yonder, what a change is made!

Ah me! the blooming pride of May,
And that of beauty are but one:
At morn both flourish bright and gay,
Both fade at ev'ning, pale, and gone!

At dawn poor Stella danc'd and sung;
The am'rous youth around her bow'd:
At night her fatal knell was rung!
I saw and kiss'd her in her shroud;

Such as she is, who dy'd to-day,
Such I, alas! may be to-morrow:
Go, Damon, bid thy muse display
The justice of thy Cloe's sorrow.

PRIOR.

_TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE,

MUCH OF TIME,_

GATHER ye rose-buds while ye may:
Old Time is still a-