Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/485

 One throws milk on my clothes, T'other plays with my nose; What wanting signs are those? Phillada flouts me.

I cannot work nor sleep At all in season: Love wounds my heart so deep Without all reason. I 'gin to pine away In my love's shadow, Like as a fat beast may, Penn'd in a meadow. I shall be dead, I fear, Within this thousand year: And all for that my dear Phillada flouts me.

WILLIAM STRODE

1602-1645

393. Chloris in the Snow

I saw fair Chloris walk alone, When feather'd rain came softly down, As Jove descending from his Tower To court her in a silver shower: The wanton snow flew to her breast, Like pretty birds into their nest, But, overcome with whiteness there, For grief it thaw'd into a tear: Thence falling on her garments' hem, To deck her, froze into a gem.