68
THE TALKING OAK.
xvi.
Of beauties, that were born
In teacup-times of hood and hoop,
Or while the patch was worn;
xvii.
About me leap'd and laugh'd
The modish Cupid of the day,
And shrill'd his tinsel shaft.
xviii.
Each leaf into a gall)
This girl, for whom your heart is sick,
Is three times worth them all;
xix.
Have faded long ago;
But in these latter springs I saw
Your own Olivia blow,
