to put to so deeply different an use.

Walking in a valley greene,
Spred with Flora summer queene:
Where shee heaping all hir graces,
Niggard seem'd in other places:
Spring it was, and here did spring
All that nature forth can bring.

(_Tullies Loue_, p. 53, ed. 1589.)


Nights were short, and daies were long;
Blossoms on the Hauthorns hung:
Philomele (Night-Musiques King)
Tolde the comming of the spring.

(_Grosart's Barnfield_ [1876], p. 97.)

On a day (alack the day!)
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air.

(_Love's Labor's Lost_, act iv., sc. iii.)

And now let us hear Webster.

Hearke, now every thing is still,
The Scritch-Owle, and the whistler shrill,