ANONYMOUS

One throws milk on my clothes, T'other plays with my nose ; What wanting signs are those? Phillada flouts me.

I cannot work nor sleep

At all in season : Love wounds my heart so deep

Without all reason. I 'gin to pine away

In my love's shadow, Like as a fat beast may,

Penn'd in a meadow. I shall be dead, I fear, Within this thousand year : And all for that my dear

Phillada flouts me.

��WILLIAM STRODE Chloris in the Snow

T SAW fair Chloris walk alone,

When feather'd rain came softly down,

As Jove descending from his Tower

To court her in a silver shower :

The wanton snow flew to her breast,

Like pretty birds into their nest,

But, overcome with whiteness there,

For grief it thaw'd into a tear :

Thence falling on her garments' hem, To deck her, froze into a gem.

�� �