144 
The place for these, and for the rest 
Of flowers, w'as thy spotlesse breast. 
Over the which a state was draw’n 
Of tifFanie, or cob-web lawne ; 
There in that parly, all those powei’s 
Voted the Rose the queen of flowers 
But so, as that herself should be 
The maide of honour unto thee. 
In “ The Gentleman of Venice,” by Shirley (a dramatic 
writer of great merit but small popularity), is this very lively 
and poetic dialogue between a fair lady and a young 
gardener ;— 
Belaura. 
Georgia. 
Bel. 
Geo. 
Bel. 
Geo. 
Bel. 
Geo. 
Bel. 
Geo. 
You are conceited, Sirra; does wit grow in this garden ? 
Yea, Madam, while I am in it; I am a slip myself. 
Of rosemary or thyme ? 
Of wit, sweet Madam. 
’Tis pity, but thou shoulds’t be kept with watering. 
Thei-e’s wit in every flower, if you can gather if. 
I am of thy mind. 
But what’s the wit, prethee, of yonder tulip ? 
You may read there the wit of a young courtier; 
Pride, and show of colours, a fair promising, 
Deare when ’tis bought, and quickly comes to nothing. 
The w'it of that rose ?— 
If you attempt. Madam, to pluck a Rose, I shall 
find a moral in’t.— 
Signior Georgio expecting that in gathering the Rose the 
Lady would wound her hand, and thus show that pain often 
succeeds to pleasure. 
Although not entirely in praise ot the Rose, the following 
sonnet of Spenser is so good and graceful that I shall quote 
it here:— 
