In the Poem of Psyche, or Love's Mystery, by Dr. J. Beaumont, we have an example of quaintness of poetical expression, in the description which Aphrodisius gives of the court paid to him, and the pretty messages sent him by the ladies.
How many a pretty embassy have I
Receiv'd from them, which put me to my wit
How not to understand — but by-and-bye
Some comment would come smiling after it;
But I had other thoughts to fill my head,
"Books call'd me up — and books put me to bed."
The following ludicrous title of a collection of old poems, by George Gascoigne, has the appearance of being too intentionally absurd to be called quaint:
"A hundred sundrie flowers bound up in one small posie, gathered, partly by translation, in the fine and outlandish gardens of Euripides, Ovid, Petrarch, Ariosto, and others, and partly by invention, out of our own fruitful gardens of England — yielding sundrie sweet savours of tragicall, comicall, and moral discourses, both pleasant and profitable to the well-smelling noses of learned readers."