HOSE. 
183 
THE HOSE. 
SHAKSPEARE. 
Oh ! how much more doth beauty beauteous 
seem, 
By that'sweet ornament which truth doth give 
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
For that sweet odour, which doth in it live. 
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye. 
As the perfumed tincture of the roses, 
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, 
When summer’s breath their masked buds 
discloses, 
But for their virtue’s only in their show. 
They live unmoved, and unrespected fade. 
Die to themselves : sweet roses do not so; 
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours 
made. 
The same. —cowpeh. 
The rose had been washed, just washed in a 
shower. 
Which Mary to Anna conveyed; 
The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower, 
And weighed down its beautiful head. 
The cup was all filled; and the leaves were 
all wet, 
K 
