But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent it back to me,
Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee."
One more of Carew's, on the sight of a gentlewoman's face in the water:
"Stand still, you floods; do not efface
The image which you bear,
So votaries from every place
Shall altars to you rear."
Enough of illustrations of "the subtle art," which has given the Castle its name: still I must add a charade of Fox's, addressed to the Duchess of Devonshire—
"Myself is my first, in a very short word,
And I am the second, and you are my third;"
(the word is idol.) I will conclude with the latest specimen of the kind I have seen. It is extracted from the album of a young lady:
"Miss, in your nose an epigram's discerned—
‘Tis pretty, short, and elegantly turned."
