Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd

Showed like a stubble-land at harvest-home;

He was perfumed like a milliner,

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held

A pouncet-box, which ever and anon

He gave his nose and took 't away again.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): King Henry IV. Part I. Act i. Sc. 3.

She what was honour knew,

And with obsequious majesty approv'd

My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower

I led her blushing like the morn; all heaven

And happy constellations on that hour

Shed their selectest influence; the earth

Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill;

Joyous the birds; fresh gales and gentle airs

Whisper'd it to the woods, and from their wings

Flung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub.

John Milton (1608-1674): Paradise Lost. Book viii. Line 508.

To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new.

John Milton (1608-1674): Lycidas. Line 193.