DENISE.

Look, Madam, look!

a fish without a stain!

O speckless, fleckless fish! Who is it, pray,
That bears him so discreetly?

--

THE PRINCESS.

FONTENAY.

You know him not? My prince of shining locks!
My pearl! my Phoenix! - my pomander-box!
He loves not Me, alas! The man 's too vain!
He loves his doublet better than my suit,
His graces than my favours. Still his sash
Sits not amiss, and he can touch the lute
Not wholly out of tune -

Who is it comes with such a sudden dash

Plump i' the midst, and leaps the others clear?

THE PRINCESS.

Ho! for a trumpet! Let the bells be rung!
Baron of Sans-terre, Lord of Prés-en-Cieux,
Vidame of Vol-au-Vent - "et aultres lieux!"
Bah! How I hate his Gasconading tongue!

Why, that 's my bragging Bravo-Musketeer —
My carpet cut-throat, valiant by a scar

Got in a brawl that stands for Spanish war:
His very life's a splash!

DENISE.

I'd rather wear

E'en such a patched and melancholy air,

As his, that motley one, who keeps the wall,

And hugs his own lean thoughts for carnival.

THE PRINCESS.

My frankest wooer! Thus his love he tells
To mournful moving of his cap and bells.
He loves me (so he saith) as Slaves the Free, -
As Cowards War, as young Maids Constancy.
Item, he loves me as the Hawk the Dove;
He loves me as the Inquisition Thought;

DENISE.

"He loves? he loves?" Why all this loving 's naught !

THE PRINCESS.

"

And Naught (quoth JACQUOT) makes the sum

of Love!"

DENISE.

The cynic knave! How call you this one here?— This small shy-looking fish; that hovers near, And circles, like a cat around a cage,

To snatch the surplus.

THE PRINCESS.

CHERUBIN, the page.

'Tis but a child, yet with that roguish smile,
And those sly looks, the child will make hearts
ache

Not five years hence, I prophesy. Meanwhile,
He lives to plague the swans upon the lake,
To steal my comfits, and the monkey's cake.

Denise.

And these that swim aside—who may these be?

THE PRINCESS.

Those are two gentlemen of Picardy.

Equal in blood, of equal bravery:

D'AURELLES and MAUFRIGNAC. They hunt in pair; I mete them morsels with an equal care,

Lest they should eat each other,

DENISE.

And that- and that- and that?

- or eat Me.

THE PRINCESS.

I name them not.

Those are the crowd who merely think their lot

The lighter by my land.

Denise.

And is there none

More prized than most? There surely must be

one,

A Carp of carps!

THE PRINCESS.

Ah me! he will not come ! He swims at large, looks shyly on, is dumb. Sometimes, indeed, I think he fain would nibble, But while he stays with doubts and fears to quibble,

Some gilded fop, or mincing courtier-fribble,
Slips smartly in, and gets the proffered crumb.
He should have all my crumbs-if he'd but ask;
Nay, an he would, it were no hopeless task
To gain a something more. But though he's
brave,

He's far too proud to be a dangling slave;

And then he's modest !

So... he will not

come!

THE SUNDIAL.

IS an old dial, dark with many a stain;

'TIS &

In summer crowned with drifting orchard

bloom,

Tricked in the autumn with the yellow rain,

And white in winter like a marble tomb;

And round about its gray, time-eaten brow
Lean letters speak a worn and shattered row:
I am a Shade: a Shadowe too arte thou:

I marke the Time: saye, Gossip, dost thou soe ?

Here would the ringdoves linger, head to head; And here the snail a silver course would run, Beating old Time; and here the peacock spread His gold-green glory, shutting out the sun.

The tardy shade moved forward to the noon;
Betwixt the paths a dainty Beauty stept,

That swung a flower, and, smiling, hummed a

tune,

Before whose feet a barking spaniel leapt.