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Sweet is the Rose, but grows upon a Brere;
Sweet is the Juniper, but sharp his bough;
Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere;
Sweet is the Firbloome, but his braunches rough;
Sweet is the Cypresse, but his rynd is tough;
Sweet is the Nut, but bitter is his pill,
Sweet is the Broome-flower, but yet sowre enough;
And sweet is Moly, but his root is ill.
So every sweet with soure is temper'd still,
That maketh it be coveted the more,
For easie things, that may be got at will,
Most sorts of men do set but little store.
Why then should I accompt of little paine,
That endlesse pleasure shall unto me gaine!
In a very beautiful but I believe anonymous poem of the time of Charles I. is so elegant an allusion to the Rose, that I shall make it my concluding extract from these records of the Garden Queen; especially as the warning tone may be listened to, with equal propriety, by the gay and "inconstant" fair ones of the present day as by their predecessors, the coquettes of the olden time.
INCONSTANCY REPROVED.
I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair,
And I might have gone near to love thee,
Had I not found the slightest prayer
That lips could speak, had power to move thee:
But I can let thee now alone
As worthy to be loved by none.
I do confess thee sweet, yet find
Thou'rt such an unthrift of thy sweets,
Thy favours are but like the wind,
