Those ills that wait on all below

Shall ne'er be felt by me;
Or gently felt, and only so,
As being shared with thee.

What she demands, incessant I'll prepare ;
I'll weave her garlands and plait her hair.

Prior. July 20.

Hard is her heart as flint or stone,

She laughs to see me pale,
And merry as a grig is grown,
And brisk as bottled ale.

old Epigram.
Every white will have its blacke,
And every sweete its soure.

Percy's Reliques. July 21.

A sweet, attractive kind of grace,

A full assurance given by looks,
Continual comfort in a face,

The lineaments of Gospel books-
I trow that countenance cannot lye
Whose thoughts are legible in the eye.

No joy so great but runneth to an end,
No hap so hard but may in time amend.

Robert Southwell.

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O! married love! thy bard shall own,

Where two congenial souls unite,
Thy golden chains inlaid with down,
Ihy lamp with heaven's own splendours bright.

John Langhorne.

For if we love one another, Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mischances may happen.


(Evangeline). July 23.

My lady's beauty passeth more
The best of yours, I dare well sayen,
Than doth the sun the candlelight,
Or brightest day the darkest night.

Earl of Surrey.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments ; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds.

July 24.

I love her for her smile, her look, her way
Of speaking gently, for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine.

E. B. Browning

For woman is all truth and steadfastness,
Much worship, bounty, and gentleness,
Right coming fair, and full of meekéness.


July 23.

July 24.

Only a woman, you tell me!
Only a woman to thee!
But there's naught that this earth containeth
Half so dear as this woman to me.

V. Gabriel.

Love makes all sweetness in our life,
And love is more than breath.

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July 26.

Thus in extremes of cold and heat,

Where wandering man may trace his kind
Wherever grief and want retreat
In woman they compassion find.

Crabbe. My wife's great defect is her want of cheerfulness, and expecting me every moment to be petting her like a Dutch pug.

7. Buckstone. July 27.

Her lips do smell like unto gilliflowers,

Her ruddy cheeks like unto roses red,
Her snowy brows like unto budded bellamoures,
Her lovely eyes like pinks but newly spread.

In constancy and nuptial love
I learn my duty from the dove.


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