i 



ri 



Worcestershire, of melancholy aspect. Speaking of France, says Burgundy — 



" Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart, 

 Unprun^d dies ; her hedges, even-pleached 

 Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair. 

 Put forth disordered twigs ; her fallow leas 

 The Darnel, Hemlock, and rank Fumitory 

 Doth root upon ; while that the coulter rusts. 

 That should deracinate such savager^^ : 

 The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 

 The freckled Cowslip, Burnet, and green Clover, 

 Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank. 

 Conceives by idleness ; and nothing teems 

 But hateful Docks, rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs, 

 Losing both beauty and utility. 

 And as our fallows, meads, and hedges, 

 Defective in their natures, grow to wildness. 

 Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children. 

 Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time. 

 The sciences that should become our country 

 But grow like savages." 



King Henry V., Act V. Sc. 2. 



Here, again, is desolation well delineated — 



" The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and bare, 

 O'ercome with Moss and baleful Mistletoe." 



Titus Aiidroiticus, Act IL, Sc. 3. 



Horticulture, in Shakespeare's hands, too, can afford spirited political satires — 



" Go, bind thou up yon dangling Apricocks, 

 Which, like unruly children, make their sire 

 Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight ; 

 Give some supportance to the bending twigs. 

 Go thou and, like an executioner. 

 Cut of the heads of too-fast-growing sprays 

 That look too lofty in our Commonwealth. 



I will go root away 

 The noisome weeds that without profit suck 

 The soil's fertility from our wholesome flowers. 



When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, 

 Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up. 

 Her fruit trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd, 

 Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs 

 Swarming with caterpillars." 



King Rkhxrd II., Act IIL, Sc. 3. 



The pretty custom of decking graves with flowers is thus given — 



" With fairest flowers. 

 While summer last, and I live here, Fidele, 

 I'll sweeten thy sad grave : Thou shalt not lack, 

 The flowers that's like thy face, pale Primrose ; nor 

 The azured Harebell, like thy veins ; no, nor 

 The leaf of Eglantine, whom not to slander, 

 Out-sweeten'd not thy breath. 



Yea, and furr'd Moss besides, when flowers are none. 

 To winter-ground thy corse." 



Cymbeline, Act IV., Sc. 2. 



Such are a few of Shakespeare's many illustrations from flowers and plants. 

 More might be added, did time and space admit. Poor Ophelia's rhapsody, must 

 end the list — 



" There's Rosemary, that's for remembrance ; pray, you. 

 Love, remember : and there is Pansies— that's for thoughts. 



