Nor search the grave for my lost Valentine.
St. Valentine's Day.] I suppose, though I do not remember an instance, that in the good days before the prettiest of English customs succumbed—partly to the growth of Vulgarity and partly to the competition of the much less interesting Christmas Card—some one, or more than one, must have made a collection of literary Valentines. In that case this should have figured. It has a good deal of 'Henry King, his mark'—good taste, freedom from mawkishness, melody, and enough poetical essence to save it from the merely mediocre. The coincidence of l. 24 with the more passionate close of 'Tell me no more' should not escape notice.—I have not altered 'ere since' to 'e'er since' in text, because the emendation, though almost, is not quite certain.
To his unconstant Friend.
But say, thou very woman, why to me
This fit of weakness and inconstancy?
What forfeit have I made of word or vow,
That I am rack'd on thy displeasure now?
If I have done a fault, I do not shame