214 
THE ENCHANTED PLANTS. 
“ How blushing !” her friend, sneering, cries, 
“ The old Daffodil whispered last night, 
And you know on those subjects she’s wise, 
That this innocent paints red and white. 
“ While her exquisite honeyed perfume 
For which the bees teaze her to death, 
They have found too, and so I presume, 
Is fictitious to cover her breath. 
u Then to see how she flirts with them all, 
How she aims in a nosegay to shine 
And because she is painted and tall, 
Conceits herself blooming and fine.” 
A Sweet-William, concealed in the shade, 
Who their kind observations had heard, 
Much loving the bright-bosomed maid, 
Thought it high time to put in a word. 
“Fine ladies, your eloquence spare, 
Oh, spare it, in pity to me ! 
Or my heart is quite lost to the fair, 
Supremely fair, sweet-scented Pea. 
