Mabel M. Moran

“ Madam President, my suggestions come from realms of fairy land as I dream, half-waking, on a bank where the wild thyme blows; where oxlips and the nodding violet grows. Quite over canopied with luscious woodbine, with sweet musk roses, and with eglantine. I dream of pease blossoms and mustard seed and canker roses (tho some call them wild) and honeysuckle and ivy— (which I trow is feminine because it requires support) . I give you dewberries and apricots, and love-in-idleness, and there is cupid’s flower and Dian’s bud, which is but an herb, but brewed will keep men and women chaste. ”

“ Surely this would apply to Avon’s banks as well.
LADY MACBETH: Quite likely, child, ’tis a pretty chant, we thank you. (looks slowly around circle) Ah, Cleopatra, have you no suggestions?
(Cleopatra rises languidly and poses)
CLEOPATRA: Madam President, age cannot wither, nor custom stale the infinite variety of my memories of Egypt’s bounteous blooms; but alas! They would shrivel and die in your cold clime. Would that you might see green figs grow, and ripe luscious olives. And Oh for a glimpse of the date trees on the Nile, or a whiff of the orange blossoms’ perfume. ”

“ Madam, my husband’s friend, Iago, (tho I like nor trust him not) hath a pretty wit and hath likened us to gardens in these words: “Our bodies are our gardens, to which our wills are gardeners, so that if we will plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop, and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs, or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manured with industry, why the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills.” ”