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To say over every purl?
HER MAN DESCRIBED BY HER OWN
Of your trouble, Ben,
Young I'd have him too, and fair,
6 That is, to try.
7 Border, or fringe ; also a twist of gold or silver. In other senses, it means an eddy or circle made by the notion of a fluid. Here the signification apparently is a twist or twists of wire introduced into the hair to keep it in form. – B. 8 Paint for the complexion; in general use among ladies.
" This same fucus
BEAUMONT and FLETCHER, Woman later, III. 3. - B.
For Love's fingers and his wings,
Eyebrows bent like Cupid's bow,
He would have a hand as soft
'Twere too long to speak of all :
Or were set up in a brake.' . The exact sense in wliich the word “brake" is here used
Valiant he should be as fire,
Such a man, with every part,
X. ANOTHER LADY'S EXCEPTION, PRESENT AT
For his mind I do not care,
cannot be easily determined, although the general meaning of the passage is sufficiently obvious. Independently of its popular acceptation, as a thicket of bushes, it was employed in several other senses — - such as an engine of torture, an instrument for dressing flax, a snafile for horses, and a wooden frame to restrain the legs of vicious horses while they were being shod. The context will bear either of the last two meanings. B.
Himself young, and face be good,
THE MUSICAL STRIFE;
IN A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.
She. Come, with our voices, let us war,
And challenge all the spheres,
And all the world turn ears.
He. At such a call, what beast or fowl
Of reason empty is?
What man but must lose his?
She. Mix then your notes, that we may prove
To stay the running floods,
And call the walking woods.
He. What need of me? do
But what those lips do make!
And exercise below,
On what they viewing know.
He. O sing not you then, lest the best
Of angels should be driven
Mistaking earth for heaven.
She. Nay, rather both our souls be strained
To meet their high desire;
May wish us of their quire.
O do not wanton with those eyes,
Lest I be sick with seeing;
Lest shame destroy their being.
O be not angry with those fires,
For then their threats will kill me;
For then my hopes will spill me.
O do not steep them in thy tears,
For so will sorrow slay me;
Mine own enough betray me.
IN THE PERSON OF WOMANKIND.
A SONG APOLOGETIC.
Men, if you love us, play no more
The fools or tyrants with your friends, To make us still sing o'er and o’er