Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.
Accuse not nature: she hath done her part; Do thou but thine.
Implied Subjection, but requir'd with gentle sway, And by her yielded, by him best receiv'd,- Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay.
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty.
Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
Herbs, and other country messes, Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses.