1 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile And go at last. 2 What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good night? 'Tis pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. 3 But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave: And after they have shown their pride, Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave. OBERON'S PALACE. Thus to a grove Sometimes devoted unto love, Tinsell'd with twilight, he and they, Led by the shine of snails, a way Beat with their num'rous feet, which by Many a neat perplexity, Many a turn, and many a cross Tract, they redeem a bank of moss, Spongy and swelling, and far more Soft than the finest Lemster ore, Mildly disparkling like those fires Which break from the enjewell'd tires Of curious brides, or like those mites Of candied dew in moony nights; Upon this convex all the flowers Nature begets by the sun and showers, Are to a wild digestion brought; As if Love's sampler here was wrought Or Cytherea's ceston, which All with temptation doth bewitch. Sweet airs move here, and more divine Made by the breath of great-eyed kine Who, as they low, impearl with milk The four-leaved grass, or moss-like silk. The breath of monkeys, met to mix With musk-flies, are the aromatics Which cense this arch; and here and there, And further off, and everywhere Throughout that brave mosaic yard, Those picks or diamonds in the card, With pips of hearts, of club, and spade, Are here most neatly interlaid. Many a counter, many a die, Half-rotten and without an eye, Lies hereabout; and for to pave The excellency of this cave, Squirrels' and children's teeth, late shed, Are neatly here inchequered With brownest toadstones, and the gum That shines upon the bluer plumb. * * * * *