With fairest flowers,...
I'll sweeten thy sad grave; thou shallt not lack
The flower, that's like thy face; pale primrose; nor
The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander,
Outsweeten'd not thy breath.
(Cymbeline, IV, ii.)
Hunting the buck
I found him sitting by a fountain's side,
Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst,
And paid the nymph again so much in tears.
A garland laid him by, made by himself,
Of many several flowers, bred in the bay,
Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness
Delighted me: but ever when he turn'd
His tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep,
As if he meant to make 'em grow again.
Seeing such pretty helpless innocence
Dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story.
He told me that his parents gentle died,
Leaving him to the mercy of the fields.
Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs
Which did not stop their courses; and the sun
Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his light.
Then he took up his garland, and did shew
What every flower, as country people hold,
Did signify; and how all, order'd thus
Express'd his grief; and to my thoughts, did read
The prettiest lecture of his country art
That could be wish'd....
.... I gladly entertain'd him,
Who was as glad to follow, and have got
The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy,
That ever master kept.
(Philaster, I, 2.)
[103]: The Sad Shepherd; The Faithful Shepherdess.
Through yon same bending plain
That flings his arms down to the main,
And through these thick woods, have I run,
Whose bottom never kiss'd the sun
Since the lusty spring began....
(The Faithful Shepherdess, acte I, sc. i.)
For to that holy wood is consecrate
A virtuous well, about whose flow'ry banks
The nimble-footed fairies dance their rounds,
By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes.
Their stolen children, so to make them free
From dying flesh, and dull mortality.