_Per._ I'll not put The dibble in earth to set one slip of them; 100 No more than were I painted I would wish This youth should say 'twere well, and only therefore Desire to breed by me. Here's flowers for you; Hot lavender, mints, savory, marjoram; The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun 105 And with him rises weeping: these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. You're very welcome. _Cam._ I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, And only live by gazing. _Per._ Out, alas! 110 You'ld be so lean, that blasts of January Would blow you through and through. Now, my fair'st friend, I would I had some flowers o' the spring that might Become your time of day; and yours, and yours, That wear upon your virgin branches yet 115 Your maidenheads growing: O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let'st fall From Dis's waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim 120 But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and 125 The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack, To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend, To strew him o'er and o'er! _Flo._ What, like a corse? _Per._ No, like a bank for love to lie and play on; 130 Not like a corse; or if, not to be buried, But quick and in mine arms. Come, take your flowers: Methinks I play as I have seen them do In Whitsun pastorals: sure this robe of mine Does change my disposition. _Flo._ What you do 135 Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet, I'ld have you do it ever: when you sing, I'ld have you buy and sell so, so give alms, Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs, To sing them too: when you do dance, I wish you 140 A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that; move still, still so, And own no other function: each your doing, So singular in each particular, Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds, 145 That all your acts are queens. _Per._ O Doricles, Your praises are too large: but that your youth, And the true blood which peeps fairly through 't, Do plainly give you out an unstain'd shepherd, With wisdom I might fear, my Doricles, 150 You woo'd me the false way.