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.