HAPPY the man whom, from ambition free'd, A little field and little garden feed: The field does frugal Nature's wants fupply, The garden furnishes for luxury: What farther fpecious clogs of life remain, He leaves for fools to feek, and knaves to gain. This happy life did th' old Corycian choose, A life deferving Maro's noble Muse; This happy life did wife Abdol'm'nus charm, The mighty monarch of a little farm. While hoeing weeds that on his walks encroach'd, Great Alexander's meffenger approach'd; "Receive," faid he," the enfigns of a crown "A fceptre, mitre, and Sidonian gown." To empire call'd, unwillingly he goes, And longiug looks back on his cottage throws. Thus Aglaus' farm did frequent visits find From gods, himself a stranger to mankind. Gyges, the richest king of former times, (Wicked, and fwelling with fuccessful crimes) "Is there," faid he, "a man more blefs'd than I ?" Thus challeng'd he the Delphic deity. "Yes, Aglaus," the plain-dealing god reply'd: "Aglaus! who's he?" the angry monarch cry'd. "Say, is there any king fo call'd?" "There's none; "No king was ever by that title known, "Or any great commander of that name, "Or hero, who with gods does kindred claim;

Or any who does fuch vaft wealth enjoy, "As all his luxury can ne'er deftroy. "Renown'd for arms, for wealth, or birth, no man "Was found call'd Aglaus: who's this Aglaus, "then?"

At laft, in the retir'd Arcadian plains,
(Silence and fhades furround Arcadian (wains)
Near Ptophis town (where he but once had been)
At plough this man of happiness was feen;
In this retirement was that Aglaus found,
Envy'd by kings, and by a god renown'd.
Almighty Pow'r! if lawful it may be,
Amongst fictitious gods to mention thee,

Before encroaching age too far intrude,

Let this fweet fcene my life's dull farce conclude!

With this fweet clofe my ufelefs toil be blefs'd,
My long tofs'd bark in that calm station reft.
Once more my Mufe in wild digreffion strays,
Ne'er fatisfy'd with dear Retirement's praife.
A pleafant road-but from our purpose wide;
Turn off, and to our point directly guide.

Of Summer-flow'rs a mighty host remain,
With thefe which Autumn mufters on the plain,
Who with joint forces fill the shining field,
Grudging that Spring fhould equal numbers yield
To both their lifts, or, 'caufe fome Plants had been
Under the fervice of both feasons seen.

Of thefe, my Mufe! rehearse the chief, (for all, Though Mem'ry's daughter thou can'ft ne'er recall)

The fpikes of Summer's corn thou may'st as well,
Or ev'ry grape of fruitful Autumn tell.

The flamy Panfy ufhers Summer in,
His friendly march with Summer does begin;
Autumn's companion too, (fo Proferpine
Hides half the year, and half the year is feen)
The Violet is lefs beautiful than thee,

That of one colour boafts, and thou of three :
Gold, filver, purple, are thy ornament, [scent.
Thy rivals thou might'ft fcorn, hadft thou but
The Hefperis affumes a Violet's name,
To that which justly from the Hefper came;
Hefper does all thy precious fweets unfold,
Which coyly thou didft from the day withhold:
In him more than the fun thou tak'ft delight;
To him, like a kind bride, thou yield'st thy sweet
at night.

The Anthemis, a fmall but glorious Flow'r,
Scarce rears his head, yet has a giant's tow'r;
Forces the lurking fever to retreat,
(Enfconc'd, like Cacus' in his smoky feat)
Recruits the feeble joints, and gives them cafe ;
He makes the burning inundation cease;

And when his force against the stone is fent,
He breaks the rock, and gives the waters vent.
Not thunder finds through rocks fo fwift a course,
Nor gold the rampir'd town fo foon can force.

Bluebottle, thee my numbers fain would raise,
And thy complexion challenges my praife;
Thy countenance, like Summer-fkies, is fair
But, ah how diff'rent thy vile manners are!
Ceres for this cxcludes thee from my song,
And swains, to gods and me a facred throng:
A treach'rous guest, deftruction thou doft bring
To th' hofpitable field where thou doft fpring:
Thou blunt'ft the very reaper's fickle, and fo
In life and death becom'ft the farmer's foe.

[bear

The Fenel Flow'r does next our fong invite, Dreadful at once, and lovely to the fight: His beard all briftly, all unkemb'd his hair, Ev'n his wreath'd horns the fame rough afpect His vifage, too, a watʼrifh blue adorns, Like Achelous, e'er his head wore horns: Nor without reason, (prudent Nature's care Gives Plants a form that might their ufe declare) Dropfies it cures, and makes moift bodies dry, It bids the waters pafs, the frighted waters fly; Does through the body's fecret channels run, A water-goddefs in the little world of man.

But fay, Corn Violet, why thou doft claim
Of Venus' Looking-glafs the pompous name?
Thy ftudded purple vies, I must confefs,
With the most noble and Patrician drefs;
Yet wherefore Venus' Looking-glafs? that name
Her offspring Rofe did ne'er prefume to claim.
Antirrhinon, more modeft, takes the style
Of Lion's-mouth, fometimes of Calf-fnout vile,
By us Snapdragon call'd, to make amends,
But fay what this chimera name intends?
Thou well deferv'ft it, if, as old wives fay,
Thou driv'ft nocturnal ghosts and sprights away.
Why does thy head, Napellus! armour wear?
Thy guilt, perfidious Plant! creates thy fear :
Thy helmet we could willingly allow,
But thou, alas! haft mortal weapons too!
But wherefore arm'd, as if for open fight,
Who work'ft by fecret poifon all thy fpite?
Helmet 'gainst helmet juftly thou doft wear,
Blue Anthora upon thy lovely hair; [fhield;
This cov'ring from fell wounds thy front does
With fuch a headpiece Pallas goes to field.
What God to thee fuch baneful force allow'd,
With fuch heroic piety endow'd?
Thou poison'st more than e'er Medea flew,
Yet no fuch antidote Medea knew.

Nor pow'rful only 'gainst thy own dire harms,
Thy virtue ev'ry noxious Plant difarms.
Serpents are harmlefs creatures made by thee,
And Africa itself is from poifon free.
Air, earth, and feas, with fecret taint oppress'd,
Discharge themselves of the unwelcome guest;
On wretched us they fhed the deadly bane,
Who die by them that should our life maintain :
Then Nature feems to 'ave learnt the pois'ning
trade,

Our common parent our ftepmother made :
'Tis then the fickly world perceives thy aid;
By thy prevailing force the plague is ftaid.

A noble ftrife 'twixt Fate and thee we find, That to destroy, thou to preferve mankind.

Into thy lifts, thou martial Plant! admit Goat's-rue, Goat's-rue is for thy fquadrons fit.

Thy beauty, Campion! very much may claim, But of Greek Rofe how didft thou gain the name? The Greeks were ever privileg'd to tell Untruths they call thee Rofe, who haft no fmell: Yet formerly thou waft in garlands worn, Thy starry beams our temples ftill adorn. Thou crown'ft our feafts, where we in mirth fuppofe,

And in our drink allow, thee for a Rofe

The Chalcedonian foil did once produce A Lychnis of much greater fize and ufe; Form'd like a fconce, where various branches rife, Bearing more lights than Juno's bird has eyes: Like thofe in palaces, whofe golden light Strikes up, and makes the gilded roofs more bright: This great men's tables ferves, while that's preferr'd

To altars, and the god's celeftial board.

Should Maro afk me in what region fprings The race of Flow'rs infcrib'd with names of kings? I answer, that of Flow'rs deferv'dly crown'd With royal titles many may be found; The Royal Loofe-ftrife, Royal Gentian, grace Our gardens, proud of fuch a princely race.

Soapwort! though coarie thy name, thou dot
excel

In form, and art enrich'd with fragrant smell:
As great in virtue, too, for thou giv'ft cafe
In dropfies and fair Venus' foul difeafe;
Yet doft not fervile offices decline,

But condefcend' to make our kitchens fhine.
Rome's great Dictator thus, his triumph país d;
Return'd to plough, nor thought his pomp de

bas'd;

The fame right-hand guides now the humble ftive,
And oxen yokes that did fierce nations drive.

Next comes the Flow'r in figure of a bell;
Thy fportive meaning, Nature! who can tell?
In thefe what mufic, Flora! doft thou find?
Say for what jocund rites they are design'd.
By us thefe bells are never heard to found
Our ears are dull, and ftupid is our mind;
Nature is all a riddle to mankind.

Some Flow'rs give men as well as gods delight,
Thefe qualify, nor fmell, nor taste, nor fight;
Why, therefore, fhould not our fifth fenfe be ferv'd?
Or is that pleature for the gods referv'd?

But of all Bell-flow'rs Bindweed does surpass, Of brighter metal than Corinthian brafs.

My mufe grows hoarfe, and can no longer fing; But Throatwort haftes her kind relief to bring; The Colleges with dignity inftal

This Flow'r; at Rome he is a Cardinal.

The Foxglove on fair Flora's hand is worn, Left while fhe gathers Flow'rs fhe meet a thorn! Loveapple, though its Flow'r lefs fair appears; Its golden fruit deferves the name it bears: But this is new in love, where the true crop Proves nothing; all the pleafure was i' th' hope The Indian Flow'ry Reed in figure vies, And luftre, with the Cancer of the Skies.

The Indian Crefs our climate now does bear, Call'd Lark's-heel, 'cause he wears a horfeman's fpur.

This gilt-fpur knight prepares his courfe to run,
Taking his fignal from the rifing fun,
And ftimulates his Flow'r to meet the day;
So Caftor mounted, fpurs his ftced away.
This warrior, fure, has in fome battle been,
For fpots of blood upon his breast are seen.
Had Ovid feen him, how would he have told
His hiftory, a task for me too bold?
His race at large and fortunes had exprefs'd,
And whence thofe bleeding fignals on thy breaft:
From later bards fuch myfteries are hid,
Nor does the god inspire as heretofore he did.
With the fame weapon, Larkípur! thou doft

mount

Among the Flow`rs, a knight of high account;
To want thofe warlike enfigns were a fhame
For thee, who kindred doft with Ajax claim:
Of unarm'd Flow'rs he could not be the fire,
Who for the lofs of armour did expire.
Of th' ancient Hyacinth thou keep'it the form,
Thofe lovely creatures, that ev'n Phœbus charm;
In thee thofe skilful letters ftill appear,
That prove thee Ajax his undoubted heir.
That upfart Flow'r that has ufurp'd thy fame,
O'ercome by thee, is forc'd to quit his claim.
The Lily too, would fain thy rival be,
And brings, 'tis true, fome figrs that well agree.
But in complexion differs much from thee.
At fpring thou may'ft adorn the Afian bow'rs;
We reap thee here among our Summer-flow'rs:
But Martagon a bolder challenge draws,
And offers reafon to fupport his caufe;
Nor did Achilles' armour e'er create
Twixt Ajax and Ulyffes fuch debate,
So fierce, fo great, as at this day we fee,
For Ajax' fpoils, 'twixt Martagon and thee.
That baftard Dittany, of fanguine hue,
From Hector's reeking blood conception drew;
I cannot fay but kill a crimson ftain
Tinctures its fkin, and colours every vein.
In man the three chief feats it does maintain,
Defends the heart, the ftomach, and the brain:
But all in vain thy virtue is employ'd
To fave a town must be at laf destroy'd ;
In vain thou fight'it with Heav'n and Destiny,
Our Troy muft fall, and thou our Heor die.
Next comes the Candy-tufts, a Cretan Flower,
That rivals Jove in country and in power.

The Pellitory healing fire contains,
That from a raging tooth the humour drains;
At bottom red, above 'tis white and pure,
Refembling teeth and gums, for both a certain cure.
The Sowbread does afford rich food for fwine,
Phylic for man, and garlands for the fhrine.
Mouse-car, like to its namefake, loves t' abide
In places out o' the way, from mankind hid;
It loves the fhade, and Nature kindly lends
A fhield against the darts that Phœbus fends :
"Tis with fuch filky brifles cover'd o'er,
The tend'reft virgin's hand may crop the Flow'r:
From all its num'rous darts no hurt is found;
Its weapons know to cure, but not to wound.

Sweetwilliam fmall, has form and afpect bright, Like that fweet Flower that yields great Jove delight:

Had he majestic bulk, he'd now be styl'd
Jove's Flower; and if my skill is not beguil'd,
He was Jove's Flower when Jove was but a child.
Take him with many Flow'rs in one conferr'd,
He's worthy Jove ev'n now he has a beard.

The Catchfly with Sweetwilliam we confound,
Whose nets the ftragglers of the swarm surround;
Those viscous threads that hold th' entangled prey
From its own treach'rous entrails force their way.
'Three branches in the Barrenwort are found,
Each branch again with three less branches crown'd;
The leaves and Flowers adorning each are three ;
This frame muft needs contain fome facred mystery.
Small are thy bloffoms, Double Pellitory,
Which yet united are the garden's glory :
Sneezing thou doft provoke, and Love for thee,
When thou wert born, fneez'd moft aufpiciously.
But thou that from fair Mella tak'st thy name,
Thy front furrounded with a starlike flame,
Scorn not the meads, for from the meads are borne
Wreaths, which the temples of the gods adorn;
Kind fuftenance thou yields the labouring bee,
When scarce thy mother-Earth affords it thee:
Thy winter ftore in hardest months is found,
And more than once with Flow'rs in fummer
crown'd;

Thy root fupplies the place of Flow'rs decay'd,
And fodder for the fainting hive is made.

Behold a monster loathiome to the eye,
Of flender bulk, but dang'rous policy;
Eight legs it bears, three joints in every limb,
That nimbly move, and dex'troufly can climb;
Its trunk (all belly) round, deform'd, and fwell'd,
With fatal nets and deadly poifon fill'd;

For gnats and wand'ring flies fne fpreads her toils,
And, robber-like, lives high on ravifh'd spoils :
The city-fpider, as more civiliz'd,
With this lefs hurtful practice is fuffic'd.
With greater fury the tarantula,

Tho' fmall itfelf, makes men and beafts its prey,
Takes firft our reafon, then our life away.
Thou, fpiderwort! doft with the monster strive,
And from the conquer'd foe thy name derive.
Thus Scipio, when the world's third part he won,
While to the fpoils the meaner captains run,
The only plunder he defir'd was fame,
And from the vanquifh'd foe to take his name.

The Marvail of the World comes next in view,
At home, but ftyl'd the Marvail of Peru:
(Boast not too much, proud Soil! thy mines of gold,
Thy veins much wealth, but more of poifon hold)
Bring o'er the root, our colder earth has power
In its full beauty to produce the Flower;
But yields for iffue no prolific feed,
And fcorns in foreign lands to plant and breed.
The holyhoc difdains the common fize
Of Herbs, and like a tree does proudly rife;
Proud the appears, but try her, and you'll find
No Plant more mild, or friendly to mankind;
She gently all obftructions does unbind.

The Africans their rich leaves closely fold, Bright as their country's celebrated gold;

Each hollow leaf, envelop'd, does impart
The form of a gilt pipe, and feems a work of art:
Would kind Apollo once thefe pipes infpire,
They'd give such founds as should surpass his lyre.
A more than common date this Flow'r enjoys,
And fees a month completed ere the dies.
Thefe only Fate permits fo long to ftand,
And crops 'em then with an unwilling hand.
The calyx where her fertile feeds are laid
In likeness of a painted quiver made,
With ftore of arrows, too, this quiver's grac'd,
And decently on Flora's fhoulder plac'd.
When the in gardens hunts the butterfly,
In vain the wretch his funburnt wings does try,
Secure enough, did fear not make him fly :
Himfelf would feem a Flow'r, if motionlefs,
And cheat the goddess with his gaudy drefs;
Retreating, the keen spike his fides does goad,
To earth he falls, a light and unfelt load.

}

Such was the punic Caltha, which of yore, Of Juno's Rofe the lofty title bore: Of famous Carthage, now by Fate bereft, This laft (and furely) greatest pride is left. How vain, O Flow'rs! your hopes and wishes be, Borne like yourselves by rapid winds away: Once you had hopes, at Hannibal's return From vanquish'd Rome, his triumphs to adorn, And ev'n imperious Carthage' head furround, When the the Mistress of the World was crown'd; Prefum'd that Flora would for you declare, Though fhe that time a Latian goddefs were: But now, alas! reduc'd to private state, [fate. Thou fhar'ft, poor Flow'r! thy captive country's Why, Hollyrofe! doft thou, of fiender frame, And without fcent, affume a Rofe's name? Fate on thy pride a fwift revenge does bring, The day beholds thee dead that fees the fpring; Yet to the fhades thy foul triumphing goes, Boafting that thou didit imitate the Rofe.

A better claim Sweet Ciftus may pretend,
Whofe fweating leaves a fragrant baliam fend.
To crop this Plant the wicked goat profumes,
Whofe fetid beard the precious balm perfumes;
But in revenge of the unhallow'd theft,
The caitiff is of his larded beard bereft.
Balen fs theu doft redrels, nor are we fure
Whether the beard or balfam gives the cure.
Thy ointment, Jeffamine! without abuse
Is gain'd, yet grave old fots condemn the ufe;
Though Jove himfelf, when he is most enrag'd,
With thy ambrofial odour is affuag'd.
Capricious men! why fhould that fcent difplease,
That is fo grateful to the deities?

Flora herself to th' Orange-tree lays claim,
Calls it her own, Pomona does the fame;
Hard words enfue (for under fenfe of wrong
Ev'n goddeffes themfelves can find a tongue)
If apples please you fo, Pomona cries,
Take your Loveapple, and let that fuffice;
To claim another's right is hariots' trade,
So may a goddess of an harlot made.

And on what fcore, Flora, incens'd, reply'd,
Were you by kind Vertumnus deify'd?
You kept (no thanks) your maiden-virtue, when
He was a matron, when a youth---what then?

Such fragrant fruits as thefe may Flow'rs be call'də
And henceforth with that name shall be install'd.
On fundry forts of pulfe we do bestow
That title, though in open field they grow,
As others oft' are in the garden feen,
Witness the Everlasting Peate and Scarlet Bean.
The vulgar Bean's fweet fcent who does not
prize?

With iv'ry forehead, and with jet-black eyes,
Amongst our garden-beauties may appear,
If gardens only their cheap crop did bear.
Pythagoras, not rightly understood,

Has left a fcandal on the noble food.
Take care, henceforth, ye Sages! to speak true;
Speak truth, and speak intelligibly too.

Lupine, unfteep'd, to harshnefs does incline,
And, like old Cato, is of temper rough,
But drench the pulfe in water, him in wine,
They'll lofe their fournefs, and grow mild enough.
Thefe Flowers, and thousands more, whefe num'rous

tribe

And pompous march 'twere endlefs to defcribe.
The Mandrake only imitates our walk,
And on two legs erect is feen to stalk.
This monfter ftruck Bellona's felf with awe,
When firft the man-refembling Plant the faw.

The Waterlily fill is wanting here;
What cause can Waterlily have to fear,
Where beauties of inferior rank appear?
Her form excels, and, for nobility,

The whole Affembly might her vassals be:
A water-nymph fhe was, Alcides' bride,
(Who fprung from gods, himself now deify'd)
This coft her dear-by love of him betray'd,
The water-goddess a poor Plant was made:
From this misfortune the does triftful prove,
And to this hour fhe hates the name of Love:
All freedom the renounces, mirth and play,
That to more clofe embraces lead the way:
And fince our Flora's former pranks are known,
(if in a goddess we fuch crimes may own)
In life the common mistress of the town:
She fcorns at the tribunal to be seen,
Nor would on terms fo fcandalous be queen:
To be from earth divorc'd fhe'd rather choose,
And to the Sun her wither'd root expofe.

Thee, Maracot a much more facred caufe From thefe profane ridic'lous rites withdraws; With fignals of a real god adorn'd,

Poets' and painters' gods by thee are scorn'd.
'T' unfold the emblems of this mystic Flower,
Tranfcends, alas! my feeble Mufe's power;
But Nature, fure, by chance did ne'er bestow
A form fo diff'rent from all Plants that grow.
Enrob'd with ten white leaves, the proper drefs
Of Virgins chafte, and facred pricfteffes,
Twice round her twofold felvage you may view
A purple ring, the facred martyr's hue:
Thick fprouting stems of ruddy Saffron-grain
Strive to conceal the Flow'r, but strive in vain.
This coronet, of ruby fpikes compos'd,
The thorny blood-ftain'd crown may be fuppos'd;

"Flos Paffionis Chrifti." The Paffion Flower; or Virginida Clear The fit of these names was given it by the Jefuits, who prete, ned to find in it all tas inureme.us of cur Lora's paflion; not fu callly difcuraed by men of scales not fo fine as they.

The blood-ftain'd pillar, too, a curious eye
May there behold, and if you clofely pry, [fpy,
The fpunge, the nails, the fcourge, thereon you'll
And knobs refembling a crown'd head defcry.
So deep in earth the root defcends, you'd fwear
It meant to vifit hell, and triumph there:
In ev'ry foil it grows, as if it meant
To ftretch its conqueft to the world's extent.
Befide the forenam'd candidates, but few
Remain'd, and most of them were modeft too;
But where fuch fragrant rivals did appear,
Who would have thought to find rank Moly there?
Amongst competitors of fuch fair note,
Sure Garlic only will for Moly vote:
Yet iomething 't was (and Plants themselves con-
The honour great) that Homer did exprefs [fefs
Her famous name in his immortal fong:
Swelld with this pride, the preffes through the
throng.

Deep filence o'er the whole affembly spreads, Whilft with unfav'ry breath her title thus fhe pleads.

Moly.

To find a name for me the gods took care,
A mystic name, that might my worth declare :
They call me Moly: dull grammarians' sense
Is puzzled with the term-

But Homer held divine intelligence.

In Greek and Latin both my name is Great;
The term is juft, but Moly founds more neat:
My pow'rs prevented Circe's dire defign;
Ulyffes but for me had been a fwine;
In vain had Mercury infpir'd his brain
With craft,and tipp'd his wheedling tongue in vain,
Had I not enter'd timely to his aid.
Thus Moly fpoke, and would much more have faid;
But by mifchance (as if fome angry power
Had ow'd her long a fhame) a belch most four
Broke from her throat, perfuming all the Court,
And made her rivals unexpected sport.
Her pompous name no longer can take place,
Her odour proves her of the Garlic race;
Forthwith, with one confent the gibing throng
Set up their notes, and fung the well known fong.

"He that to cut his father's throat
"Did heretofore prefume,
"To'ave Garlic cramm'd into his gut
"Receiv'd the dreadful doom."

Flora, to filence the tumultuous jeft,
(Though fecretly the fmil'd amongst the reft)
That the herself would fpeak, a fign exprefs'd;
Then with fweet grace into these accents broke,
Th' unhallow'd place perfuming while the spoke.

Flora.

HOMER I will not vain or careless call,
Though he no mention makes of me at all;
That he blameworthy was in this 'tis true,
But the Blind Bard gives other gods their due.

To doubt his truth were piety to flight;
Ev'n what of Moly he aflirms is right.
I once had fuch a Flower, but now bereft
O' the happinefs, the name is only left.
No fooner men its wondrous virtue knew,
But jealous gods the pow'rful plant withdrew.
"Tis faid that Jove did Mercury chastise
For fhewing to Ulyffes fuch a prize.
To fay I faw him do it, I'll not prefume,
But witness am of Moly's unjust doom.
E'en to the fhades below her root ftrikes down,
As fhe would make th' infernal world her own;
As from their native feats the fiends fhe'd drive,
And, fpite of flames and blafting fulphur, thrive.
Jove law it, and faid, "Since fire can't stop thy
course,

"We'll try fome magic-water's ftranger force."
Then calling Lympha to him, thus at large
Unfolds his mind, and gives the goddefs charge:
"Thou know'ft," faid he, "where Cicones refide,
"There runs a marv'llous petrifying tide;
"Take of that stream (but largely take) and throw
"Where'er thou feeft the wicked Moly grow;
"Our empire is not fafe, her pow'r fo large;
"Whole rivers therefore on her head difcharge."
Lympha with lib'ral hand the liquor pours,
While thirsty Moly her own bane devours:
Her ftem forthwith is turn'd (O prodigy!)
Into a pillar; where her Flower fhould be
The sculpture of a Flow'r is only fhewn.
Poor Moly, thus transform'd to marble-stone,
The ftory of her fate does ftill present,
And ftands in death her own fad monument.
Here ended little Moly's mighty reign,
By jealous gods for too much virtue flain.

What wonder, then, if that bold Flow'r doth prove The object of his wrath that rivall'd Jove; That to embrace chafte Juno did aspire, Galiant to a Goddess, of a god the fire? The vigorous Herb begat a deity, A god like Jove himself for majesty, And one that thunders, too, as loud as he : With one short moment's touch begot him too, That's more than ever threshing Jove could do. The Flow'r itself appears with warrior's mien, (As much as can in growing Plants be seen) With stabbing point and cutting edge 'tis made,' Like warlike weapon, and upon its blade Are ruddy ftains, like drops of blood, display'd. ̧ Its fpikes of falchion-fhape, are fanguine too, Its ftem and front is all of bloody hue: The root in form of any shield is spread, A crefted helmet's plac'd upon its head: Upon his ftalk, ftrings, bow and arrows grow, A horfeman's fpur upon his heel below. Minerva I would have this warrior wed, A warrior fit for chafte Minerva's bed; So might the teem, yet keep her maidenhead. My garden had but one of these, I own, And therefore by the name of Phoenix known. The herb that could increase Jove's mighty breed, T'itfelf an eunuch was, and wanted feed. Grieving that earth fo rich a prize should want, I try'd all means to propagate the plant.