60 FLORA AND THALIA. 



Nor keeps to herself any longer her pain, 



But thus to a Primrose begins to complain : 



" I envy your mood, that can patient abide 



The respect paid that Foxglove, his airs and his pride ; 



There you sit still the same, with your colourless 



cheek, 

 But you have no spirit, — would I were as meek." 



The Primrose, good-humour'd, replied, " If you knew 

 More about him (remember I'm older than you, 

 And, better instructed, can tell you his tale) : 

 You'd envy him least of all flowers in the vale ; 

 With all his fine airs and his dazzling show. 

 No blossom more baneful and odious can blow ; 

 The reason that flow'rets before him give way 

 Is because they all hate him, and shrink from his 

 ray. 



" To stay near him long would be fading or death, 

 For he scatters a pest with his venomous breath ; 

 While the flowers that you fancy are crowding you 



there, 

 Spring round you delighted your converse to share. 

 His flame-colour'd robe is imposing, 'tis true. 

 Yet who likes it so well as your mantle of blue ; 

 For we know that of innocence one is the vest, 

 The other the cloak of a treacherous breast. 



