LAMB'S POEM. 295 



Stinking'st of the stinking kind, 

 Filth of the mouth and fog of the mind, 

 Africa, that brags her fois on 

 Breeds no such prodigious poison, 

 Henbane, nightshade, both together, 



Hemlock, aconite 



Nay, rather, 



Plant divine of rarest virtue: 

 Blisters on the tongue would hurt you. 

 'Twas but in a sort I blamed thee; 

 None e'er prospered who defamed thee; 

 Irony all, and feigned abuse, 

 Such as perplex'd lovers use, 

 At a need, when in despair, 

 To paint forth their fairest fair, 

 Or in part but to express 

 That exceeding comeliness 

 Which their fancies doth so strike, 

 They borrow language of dislike ; 

 And instead of Dearest Miss, 

 Jewel, Honey, Sweetheart, Bliss, 

 And those forms of old admiring, 

 Call her Cockatrice and Siren, 

 Basilisk, and all that's evil, 

 Witch, Hyena, Mermaid, devil, 

 Ethiop, Wench, and Blackamoor, 

 Monkey, Ape, and twenty more ; 

 Friendly traitress, loving foe, 

 Not that she is truly so, 

 But no other may they know, 

 A contentment to express, 

 Borders so upon excess, 

 That they do not rightly wot, 

 Whether it be pain or not ; 

 Or, as men constrained to part 

 With what's nearest to their heart, 

 While their sorrow's at the height 

 Lose discrimination quite, 

 And their hasty wrath let fall, 

 To oppose their frantic gall, 

 On the darling thing whatever 

 Whence they feel it death to sever, . 

 Though it be, as they, perforce, 

 Guiltless of the sad divorce. 

 For I must (nor let it grieve thee, 

 Friendliest of plants, 



