Her hair, nor loose, nor tied in formal plat,
Proclaimed in her a careless hand of pride;
For some, untucked, descended her sheaved hat,*
Hanging her pale and pinèd cheek beside;
Some in her threaden fillet still did bide;
And, true to bondage, would not break from thence,
Though slackly braided in loose negligence.

A thousand favours from a maund† she drew,
Of amber, crystal, and of bedded jet,‡
Which one by one she in a river threw,
Upon whose weeping margent she was set;
Like usury, applying wet to wet,

Or monarchs' hands, that let not bounty fall
Where want cries some, but where excess begs all.

Of folded schedules had she many a one,

Which she perused, sighed, tore, and gave the flood;
Cracked many a ring of posied gold and bone, §
Bidding them find their sepulchres in mud;
Found yet more letters sadly penned in blood,

* The epithet refers to the sheaves from which the straw hat was formed.

† A small hand-basket with opening covers, commonly used by market women to carry eggs and butter. Drayton furnishes a description of one :

And in a little maund, being made of oziers small,
Which serveth him to do full many a thing withall,

He very choicely sorts his simples got abroad.-Polyolbion.

The verb maund signifies to beg, perhaps from the custom of carrying a basket to receive contributions. To this origin may also be ascribed Maundy Thursday, when alms are distributed to poor people who bring baskets to receive them.

The

Some of the modern editions substituted beaded jet.' meaning of the original would seem to be jet set in some other sub

stance.

§ In the Merchant of Venice we have a specimen of the posies, or mottoes, that used to be inscribed on rings given as pledges of love :

About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring

That she did give me; whose posy was,

For all the world like cutler's poetry

Upon a knife, Love me, and leave me not.-V. I.

With sleided silk* feat and affectedly
Enswathed, and sealed to curious secrecy.

These often bathed she in her fluxive eyes,
And often kissed, and often gave to tear; †
Cried, 'O false blood! thou register of lies,
What unapprovèd witness dost thou bear!

Ink would have seemed more black and damnèd here!
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents,
Big discontent so breaking their contents.

A reverend man that grazed his cattle nigh,
Sometime a blusterer, that the ruffle‡ knew
Of court, of city, and had let go by

The swiftest hours, observèd as they flew;
Towards this afflicted fancy fastly drew;
And, privileged by age, desires to know
In brief, the grounds and motives of her woe.
So slides he down upon his grainèd bat, §
And comely-distant sits he by her side;
When he again desires her, being sat,
Her grievance with his hearing to divide :
If that from him there may be aught applied
Which may her suffering ecstasy assuage,
"Tis promised, in the charity of age.

Father,' she says, though in me you behold
The injury of many a blasting hour,

Let it not tell your judgment I am old;
Not age, but sorrow, over me hath power:
I might as yet have been a spreading flower,
Fresh to myself, if I had self-applied

Love to myself, and to no love beside.

* Raw silk prepared for use in the weaver's sley. The allusion is to the custom of tying letters with a thread of silk, passed for security under the seal. + Changed by Malone to 'gan to tear." Bustle. A ruffler was a turbulent, boasting bully. The term was also applied to idle vagrants who went about committing violent and lawless practices. § Staff; properly a cudgel or club.

But, woe is me! too early I attended
A youthful suit (it was to gain my grace)
Of one by nature's outwards so commended,
That maidens' eyes stuck over all his face:
Love lacked a dwelling, and made him her place;
And when in his fair parts she did abide,
She was new lodged, and newly deified.

'His browny locks did hang in crooked curls;
And every light occasion of the wind
Upon his lips their silken parcels hurls.*
What's sweet to do, to do will aptly find:
Each eye that saw him did enchant the mind;
For on his visage was in little drawn,
What largeness thinks in paradise was sawn.†
'Small show of man was yet upon his chin;
His phoenix down began but to appear,
Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin,
Whose bare outbragged the web it seemed to wear;
Yet showed his visage by that cost most dear;
And nice affections wavering stood in doubt
If best 'twere as it was, or best without.

'His qualities were beauteous as his form,
For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free;
Yet, if men moved him, was he such a storm
As oft 'twixt May and April is to see,

When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.
His rudeness so with his authorised youth

Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.

'Well could he ride, and often men would say,— "That horse his mettle from his rider takes:

Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,

[makes!'

What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop he And controversy hence a question takes,

* Boswell suggests purls, which would convey, metaphorically, a clearer meaning.-See note, ante, p. 131.

† Sown.

Whether the horse by him became his deed,
Or he his manage by the well-doing steed.
'But quickly on this side the verdict went;
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertainings and to ornament,
Accomplished in himself, not in his case:
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,
Can for additions; * yet their purposed trim
Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.

'So on the tip of his subduing tongue
All kind of arguments and question deep,
All replication prompt, and reason strong,
For his advantage still did wake and sleep:
To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,
He had the dialect and different skill,
Catching all passions in his craft of will;

'That he did in the general bosom reign
Of young, of old; and sexes both enchanted,
To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain
In personal duty, following where he haunted:
Consents bewitched, ere he desire, have granted;
And dialogued for him what he would say,
Asked their own wills, and made their wills obey.
'Many there were that did his picture get,
To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind;
Like fools that in the imagination set

* Thus the old quarto, changed by Malone, to whom it appeared unintelligible, into came for additions,' which is unmeaning. Can, in its ordinary use, meant knows, the present tense of canne, to know, also to be able to do anything well, or skillfully, as in the following instance :

I have seen myself, and served against the French,
And they can well on horseback.-Hamlet, iv. 7.

For was used in an infinite variety of meanings, since, because, of, by, &c., governed by the combination in which it was employed. The idiomatic phrase, can for, as it is here placed, implies that the garniture of dress and ornament knew, i. e., derived, additional grace from the rider.

The goodly objects which abroad they find

Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assigned;
And labouring in more pleasures to bestow them,
Than the true gouty landlord, which doth owe them:

'So many have, that never touched his hand,
Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart."
My woful self, that did in freedom stand,
And was my own fee-simple, (not in part,)
What with his art in youth, and youth in art,
Threw my affections in his charmed power,
Reserved the stalk, and gave him all my flower.
'Yet did I not, as some my equals did,
Demand of him, nor being desired, yielded;
Finding myself in honour so forbid,

7 With safest distance I mine honour shielded:
Experience for me many bulwarks builded
Of proofs new-bleeding, which remained the foil
Of this false jewel, and his amorous spoil.

But, ah! who ever shunned by precedent
The destined ill she must herself assay?
Or forced examples, 'gainst her own content,
To put the by-passed perils in her way?
Counsel may stop awhile what will not stay;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By blunting us, to make our wits more keen.

'Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood,
That we must curb it upon others' proof,
To be forbid the sweets that seem so good,
For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.
O appetite, from judgment stand aloof!
The one a palate hath that needs will taste,
Though reason weep, and cry,-'It is thy last.'

For further I could say, 'This man's untrue;'
And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;
Heard where his plants in others' orchards grew,