IN PRAISE OF GARDENS 



And in your death go out as well 

 As when you lived unto the smell: 

 That from your odour all may say, 

 This is the shepherd's holyday. 



BEN JONSON. 

 The Shepherd's Holyday. 



My Garden sweet, enclosed with walles strong, 

 Embanked with branches to sytt and take my rest ; 

 The knots so enknotted, it cannot be exprest, 

 With arbors and ayles so pleasant and so dulce. 



CAVENDISH. 



If they to whom God gives fair gardens knew 

 The happy solace which sweet flowers bestow ; 



Where pain depresses, and where friends are few, 

 To cheer the heart in weariness and woe. 



ANON. 



Me so oft my fancy drew 

 Here and there, that I ne'er knew 

 Where to place desire before 

 So that range it might no more; 



[36] 



