POSTHUMOUS POEMS
For whoso lacks her beauty, she
Gets scorn of them, and no good grace,
Foul age takes no man's love for fee,
No more than coin cried down for base.
Gets scorn of them, and no good grace,
Foul age takes no man's love for fee,
No more than coin cried down for base.
Girls, hearken and give heed to me,
Why thus I wail and weep my case
'Tis that I find no remedy,
No more than coin cried down for base.
Why thus I wail and weep my case
'Tis that I find no remedy,
No more than coin cried down for base.
1872.
138
