She's fresh as the mornin', the fairest in May, Scotch Song. Nothing but mirth can conquer fortune's spite, June 26. Churchill. That clouded silk becomes you much, Lloyd. Who would bear the dull unsocial hours In silence? June 27. Spare her, immortals, spare, Your heav'n is full of angel forms, My love is like the sun Pope. W. Sawyer. Scotch Song. She has wit, and song, and sense, M. Zrinyi, trans. by Sir J. Bowring. He hath great care to please his wife. June 29. Shakespeare (The Comedy of Errors). Ah! when I am wearied with working all day, Love-what a volume in a word, June 30. Prior. Tupper. Teach us all the enchanting arts Pope. You know That body and soul have each one life, but one, |