 | Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies |  |
How Violets came blew.
Love on a day, wise Poets tellSome time I wrangling spent,
Whether the Violets should excel,
or she in sweetest scent:
But Venus having lost the day,
Poor girls she fell on you,
And beat ye so, as some do say,
Her blows did make ye blew.
| Wit A Sporting In a pleasant Grove Of New Fancies | |