LIFE's loweft but far greatest sphere I fing,
Of all things that adorn the gaudy Spring;
Such as in deferts live, whom, unconfin'd,
None but the fimple laws of Nature bind;
And those who, growing tame by human care,
The wellbred citizens of gardens are;
Those that afpire to Sol their fire's bright face,
Or ftoop into their mother-Earth's embrace;
Such as drink ftreams or wells, or thofe, dry fed,
Who have Jove only for their Ganymede;
And all that Solomon's loft work of old,
(Ah! fatal lofs!) fo wifely did unfold.
Tho' I the oak's vivacious age fhould live,
I ne'er to all their names in verfe could give.
Yet I the rife of groves will briefly fhew
In verfes like their trees, rang'd all a-row;
To which fome one, perhaps, new fhades may join,

Till mine at laft become a grove divine.
Affift me, Phoebus! wit of Heav'n, whofe care
So bounteously both Plants and Poets fhare:
Where'er thou com'ft, hurl light aud heat around,
And with new life enamel all the ground;
As when the Spring feels thee, with magic light,
Break thro' the bonds of the dead Winter's night;
When thee to Colchis the gilt Ram conveys,
And the warm'd North rejoices in thy rays.
Where fhall I first begin? for with delight
Each gentle Plant me kindly does invite.
Myfelf to flavish method I'll not tie,
But, like the bee, where'er I please, will fly,
Where I the glorious hopes of honey see,
Or the free wing of Fancy carries me.
Here no fine garden-emblems fhall refide,
In well-made beds to proftitute their pride;
But we rich Nature, who her gifts bestows,
Unlimited (nor the vast treasure knows)
And various plenty of the pathiefs woods
Will follow; poor men only count their goods.
Do thou, bright Phœbus! guide me luckily
Po the firft Plant by fome kind augury.

The omen's good; fo we may hope the best; The god's mild looks our grand defign have bless'd;

For thou, kind Betony! at the first we fee,
And opportunely com'ft, dear Plant! for me;
For me, because the brain thou doft protect;
See, if ye're wife, my brain you don't neglect;
For it concerns you that in health that be;

I fing thy fifters, Betony! and thee;
But who, blefs'd Plant! can praise thee to thy
Or number the perfections you inherit? [merit,
The trees he in th' Hercynian woods as well,
Or rofes that in Pæftum grow, may tell.
Mufa at large, they fay, thy praises writ,
But I fuppofe did part of them omit.
Cafar his triumphs would recount; do thou,
Greater than he, a Conquerefs! do fo now.

Betony.

To know my virtues briefly you in vain

Defire, all which this whole Book can't contain.
O'er all the world of man great I prefide,
Where'er red ftreams thro' milky meadows glide;
O'er all you fee throughout the body spread,
Between the diftant poles of heel and head;
But in the head my chief dominions are,
The foul commits her palace to my care:
I all the corners purge, refresh, secure,
Nor let it be, for want of light, obfcure: [dorn.
That foul that came from heav'n, which stars a-
Her God's great daughter, by Creation born,
Alas! to what a frail apartment now,
And ruinated cottage does the bow!
Her very manfion to infection turns,
And in the place wherein fhe lives fhe burns.
When falling fickness thunderstrikes the brain,
Oft' men, like victims, fall, as thunderslain;
Oft' does the head with a fwift whimsy reel,
And the foul's turned, as on Ixion's wheel:
Oft' pains i' th' head an anvil feem to beat,
And like a forge the brain-pan burns with heat.

Antonius Mufa, phyîcian to Auguftus.

Betony is hot and dry in the second degree: wine or vinerar impregnated with it is excellent for the stomach and fight. The finch of it alone refreshes the brain. It is an italian proverb, L Las as many virtues as Betony; i. e. innume aɔ c.

Some parts the pally oft' of fenfe deprives
And motion, (strange effect!) one fide furvives
The other. This Mezentius' fury quite
Outdoes; in this disease dead limbs unite
With live ones. Some, with lethargy opprefs'd,
Under Death's weight feem fatally to reft.
Ah! Life! thou art Death's image, but that thee
In nought resembles fave thy brevity,
Vain phantoms oft' the mind distracted keep,
And roving thoughts poffefs the place of fleep.
Oft' when the nerves for want of juice grow dry,
(That heav'nly juice, unknown to th' outward eye)
Each feeble limb as 't were grows loofe, and quakes,
Yea, the whole fabric of the body shakes,
These, and all evils which the brain infeft,
(For numerous faucy griefs that part moleft)
Me Phoebus bade by conftant war restrain,
Saying," My kingdom, Child? fee you maintain."
And straight he gave me arms well-forg'd from
Like thofe to Æneas or Achilles giv'n. [heav'n,
One wondrous leaf he wifely did create
'Gainft all the darts of Sicknefs and of Fate,
And into that a fov'reign myftic juice,
With fubtile heat from heav'n, he did infufe.
'Tis not in vain, bright Sire! that you beftow
Such arms on me, nor fhall they ruity grow:
No; from that crime not the juft head alone
Acquits me, but th' inferiour limbs will own
I'm guiltlefs. When the lungs, with phlegm
opprefs'd,

Want air to fan the heart, and cool the breaft,
A fainty cough strives to expel the foe,
But feeks the help of pow'rful medicines too;
It comes to me, I my affiftance lend,
Open the obftructed pores, and gently fend
Refreshment to the heart. Cool gales abate
Th' internal heat, and it grows teniperate.
The quartan ague its dry holes for fakes,
As adders do; dropfies, like water-fnakes,
With liquid aliment no longer fed,
By me are forc'd to fly their wat'ry bed.
I lofs of appetite repair, and heat

The ftomach, to concoct the food men eat.
Torturing gripes I in the guts allay,

And send out murm'ring blafts the backward way.
I wash the faffron jaundice off the fkin,
And eafe the kidneys of dire ftones within.
Thick blood that stands in women's veins I foon
Force to flow down, more pow'rful than themoon:
But then th' unnatural floods of whites arife;
Ah me! that common filth will not fuffice.
I likewife ftop the current, when the blood
Thro' fome new channel feeks a purple flood.
I all the tumults of the womb appease,
And to the head, which that difturbs, give cafe.
Women's conceptions I corroborate,
And let no births their time anticipate;
But in the facred time of labour I

The careful midwife's hands with help fupply.
The lazy Gout my virtue swiftly fhuns,
Whilft from the joints with nimble heels it runs.
All poifons I expel that men annoy,
And baneful ferpents by my pow'r destroy ;
My pointed odour thro' its marrow flies,
And of a fecret wound the adder dies.

So Phœbus, I fuppofe, the Python flew, And with my juice his arrows did imbrue. From ev'ry limb all kinds of ach and pain I banish, never to return again.

The weary'd clown I with new vigour blefs,
And pains as pleafant make as idleness.
Nor do I only life's fatigue relieve,
But t' is adorn'd with what I freely give :
I make the colour of the blood more bright,
And clothe the skin with a more graceful white.

Spain in her happy woods firft gave me birth,
Then kindly banish'd me o'er all the earth;
Nor gain'd the greater honour when the bore
Trajan to rule the world, and to restore
Rome's joys. "Tis true, he justly might compare
With my deferts; his virtues equal were:
But a good prince is the fhort grant of Fate,
The world's foon robb'd of fuch a vaft cftate:
But of my bounty men for ever taste,
And what he once was, I am like to laft.

I

Maidenhair, or Venufbair *.

BEING the chief of all the Hairy state,
Me they have chofen for their advocate,
To fpeak on their behalf: now we, you know,
Among the other Plants make no fall fhew;
And fern, too, far and near which does prefide
O'er the wild fields, is to our kind ally'd.
Some hairy comets alfo hence derive,
And marriages of ftars with Plants contrive:
But we fuch kindred do not care to own;
Rather than rude relations, we'll have none.
My hair of parentage far better came;
"Tis not for nought it has Love's gentle name.
Beauty herfeif my debtor is, fhe knows,
And of my threads Love does his nets compofe.
Their thanks to me the beauteous women pay
For wanton curls, and fhady locks, that play
Upon their fhoulders. Friend! whoe'er thou art,
(If thou'rt in love) to me perform thy part:
Keep thy hair florid, and let dangling toils
Around thy head make ladies' hearts thy fpoils;
For when your head is bald, or hair grows thin,
In vain you boatt of treasures lodg'd within:
The women won't believe you, nor will prize
Such wealth: all lovers ought to please the eyes.
So I to Venus my afliftance lend,

(I'm pleas'd to be my heav'nly namefake's friend.)
Tho' I am modeft, and content to go
In fimple weeds, that make no gaudy fhew;
For I am cloth'd as when I first was born,
No painted flow'rs my rural head adorn :
But above all, I'm fober; I ne'er drink
Sweet ftreams, nor does my thirst make rivers fink.
When Jove to Plants begins an health in fhow'rs,
And from the fky large bowls of water pours,
You fee the Herbs quaff all the liquor up,
When they ought only modeftly to fup: [Rhine,
You'd think the German drunkards, rear the
Were keeping holyday with them in wine;

*The name it bears, becaufe it tinges the hair, and is to this parpole boiled in wine with parfiey feed, and plenty of oil, which renders the hair thick and curling, and keeps it from falling. It is always green, but never flowers. It delights in dry places, and le green in lummer, but withers not in winter. Plin

X

Meanwhile 1 blush, shake from my trembling | leaves

The drops, and Jove my thanks in drought receives.
But I no topers envy; for my mien
Is always gay, and my complexion green;
Winter itself does not exhauft the juice
That makes me look fo verdant and fo fpruce:
Yet the physicians fteep me cruelly
In hateful water, which I drink and die.
But I ev'n dead on humours operate,
Such force my afhes have beyond my fate.
I thro' the liver, fpleen, and reins, the foe
Purfue, whilst they with speed before me flow:
Ten thoufand maladies down with 'em they,
Like monfters fell, in brackish waves convey.
For this I might deferve, above the air,
An higher place than Berenice's hair;
But if into the fea the stars turn round,
Rather than heav'n itself I'd choose dry ground.

Sage.

SAGE! who by many virtues gain'st renown,
Sage! whofe deferts all happy mortals own,
Since thou, dear Sage! preferv'ft the memory,
I cannot, fure, forgetful prove of thee:
Thee! who Mnemofyne doft recreate,
Her daughter Mufes ought to celebrate,
Nor fhalt thoue'er complain that they're ingrate.
High on a mount the foul's firm manfion ftands,

And with a view the limbs below commands:
Sure feme great architect this pile defign'd,
Where all the world is to a fpan confin'd.
A mighty throng of fpirits here reside,
Which to the foul are very near ally'd:
Here the grand council's held; hence to and fro
The fpirits fcont to fee what news below;
Bafy as bees thro' ev'ry part they run,
Thick as the rays ftream from the glittering fun :
Their fubtile limbs filk, thin as air, arrays,
And therefore nought their rapid journey stays;
But with much toil they weary grow; at length
Perpetual labour tires the greatest ftrength.
Oft', too, as they in pains beftow their hours,
The airy vagrants hoftile heat devours.
Oft' in venereal raptures they expire,
Or burnt by wine, and drown'd in liquid fire,
Then leaden Sleep does on the senses feize,
And with dull drowzincfs the vitals freeze,
Cold floods of dire diftempers swifty roll,
For want of dams and fences, o'er the foul:
Then are the nerves diffolv'd, each member quakes,

And the whole ruinated fabric thakes:
You'd think the hands fear'd poison in the cup,
They tremble fo, and cannot lift it up.
Henee, Sage! 'tis manifeft what thou canst do.
And glorious dangers beg relief from you.
The foe, by cold and humours fo enclos'd,
From his chill throne by thy ftrong heat's depos'd,
And to the fpirits thou bring'ft fresh recruits,
When they are wearied in fuch long difputes:

The virtues of Sage are 'g' ly celebrated in all auttore cularly the writers of Schela Salernitara. who may be curta is hot in the firit, and dry at second degree. Its ca... gent, and stays biceding. It strengthens the fe inci, anus. reuzes a dull appetite; but is par fly to cor. the norves, and to uppeft at collies in lucht to them hence qe might reputation among medicavit, lys the Bený.

and

t

To life, whose body was almost its urn,
New life (if I may fay it) does return:
The members by the nerves are feady ty'd;
A pilot, not the waves, the veffel guide.
You all things fix: who this for truth would take,
That thy weak fibres fuch ftrong bonds fhould

nake!

Loose teeth thou faften'ft, which at thy command
Well-rivetted in their firm fockets ftand:
May that fair useful bulwark ne'er decay,
Nor the mouth's iv'ry fences e'er give way
Conceptions women by thy help retain,
Nor does the injected feed flow back again.
Ah! Death! do not life i felt anticipate;
Let a man live before he meets his fate;
Thou'rt too fevere, if, in the very dock,
Our ship, before 'tis built, ftrikes on a rock.
Of thy perfections this is but a tafte;
You bring to view things abfent, and what's paf
Recal: fuch tracks i' th' mind of things you make,
None can the well-form'd characters mistake;
And left the colours there fhould fade away,
Your oil embalms, and keeps 'em from decay.

Baum

HENCE, Cares! my conftant troublesome com

pany;

Begone! Meliffa's come, and smiles on me:
Smiling fhe comes, and courteoufly my head
With chaplets binds from ev'ry fragrant bed,
Bidding me fing of her, and for my trains
Herfelf will be the guerdon of my pains. [grown,
My heart, methinks, is much more light fome
And I thy influence, kind Plant! must own:
Juftly thy leaves may reprefent the heart,
For that, among its wealth, counts thee a part:
As of kings' heads guineas th' impression bear,
That princely part you in effigy wear.

All forms and clouds you banifh from the mind,
But leave ferenity and peace behind.
Bacchus himself not more revives our blood,
When he infufes his hot purple flood;

When in full bowls he all our forrow drowns,
And flatt'ring hopes with short-liv'd riches crowns:
But thofe enjoyments fome disturbance bring,
And fuch delights flow from a muddy fpring;
For Bacchus does not kill, but wound the foe,
Whofe rage and strength increases by the blow;
But without force or dregs thy pleasures flow,
Thy joys no afterclaps of torments know:
Thy honey, gentle Baum! no pointed ftings,
Like bees, thy great admirers, with it brings.
Oh heav'nly gift to fickly humankind,
All goddefs, if from care thou freest the mind:
All plagues annoy, but cares the whole man feize,
Whene'er we labour under this disease:
The, though in profp'rous affluence we live,
To all our joys a bitter tincture give:
Frail human nature its own poifon breeds,
And life itfelf thy healing virtue needs.

Baum is hot and dry, in the first degree. It is excellent again & melancholy, and the evi's arifing therefrom It caufes checríaincis amond direction, and a florid colour. The leaves are fate, by cacac who Bund Dignatures, to refemble a heart.

Scurvygrafs.

A MALADY there is that runs through all
The northern world, which they the Scurvy call,
Thrice happy Greece! that fcorns the barb'rous
Nor in its torgue a nearer does afford. [word,
Destructive Monfler! God ne'er laid a curfe
On man like this, nor could he fend a worle.
A thousand horrid fhapes the monster wears,
And in as many hands fierce arms it bears.
This water-ferpent in the belly's bred,
By muddy fens and fulph'rous moiftures fed.
Him either floth, or too much labour breeds,
He both from ease and pain itfelt proceeds;
Oft' from a dying fever he receives
His birth, and in the afhes of it lives.
Of him juft born you eafily may difpofe,
Then he's a dwarf, but foon a giant grows.

That a fmall egg fhould breed a crocodile

Of fuch vaft bulk and ftrength, the wond'ring Nile
Thinks that as much amaz'd he ought to ftand,
As men, when he o'erflows the drowned land.
With nafty humours and dry falts he's fed,
By ftinking wind and vapours nourished.
Even in his cradle he unlucky grows;
(Though he be fon of Sloth, no floth this fhews)
His toils no fooner Hercules began;
Monsters now ape that monster-murd'ring man.
E'er he's well born, the limbs he docs.opprefs,
And they are tir'd with very idleness;
They languifh, and deliberating ftand,
Loath to obey the active foul's command.
Nor does it to your wilder'd fenfe appear
Where their pain is, 'caufe 'tis ev'ry where.
When men for want of breath can hardly blow,
Nor purple ftreams in azure channels flow,
Then the bold enemy fhews he is too nigh;
One fo mitchievous cannot hidden lie.
The teeth drop out, and noifome grows the breath,
The man not only fmells, but looks like Death.
Qualms, vomiting, and torturing gripes within,
Befides unfeemly fpots upon the fkin,
His other fymptonis are; with clouds the mind
He overcafts, and, fettering the sense,
To life itfelf makes living an offence.

This moniter Nature gave me to fubdue,
(Such feats with Herbs t'accomplish 'tis not new)
So the fierce Eull, and watchful Dragon too,
On Colchis' fhore the valiant Jalon flev;
But whether thofe defeated monfters fell
By virtue of my juice I cannot tell :

But them he conquer'd, and then back he row'd
O'er the proud waves; nor was it only gold
He got; he brought away a royal maid
Belide, (may all phyficians fo be paid.)
The hardness of my task my courage fir'd,
A pow'rfel foe was that I moft defir'd.
I love to be commended, I must own,
And that my name in phyfic-books be fhewn.
I envy them whom Galen deigns to name,
Or old Hippocrates, great fons of Fame.
Achilles Alexander envy'd; why,
If he complain'd fo juftly, may not I ;

Scurvygrafs is reckoned among the medicines peculiar to this dhale Icopens, penetrates, renders volatile the Gude and gros Dumours, purges by urine and fweat, and froogerous the tatteds.

When Grecian names did other Plants adorn,
And were by them as marks of honour born,
grew inglorious on the British coaft,
(For Britain then no reafon had to boast)
Haplefs I on the Gothic fhore did lie,
Nor was the fea-weed lefs efteem'd than I.
Now fure 'tis time thofe loffes were regain'd,
Which in my youth and fame so long I have fuf-
tain'd:

'Tis time, and fo they are; now I am known,
Thro' all the universe my fame has flown:
Who my deferts denies, when by my hands
That tyrant falls that plagues the northern lands?
Sing lo Paan; yea, thrice lö fing.

And let the Gothic fhore with triumphs ring;
That wild difeafe which fuch difturbance gave,
Is led before my chariot like a flave.

Dodier.

THOU neither leaf, nor ftalk, nor root, can't fhew
How, in this penfile posture, doft thou grow?
Thou'rt perfect magic and I cannot now
Those things you do for miracles allow;
Thofe wonders, if compar'd to you, are none,
Since you yourfelf are a far greater one.
To make the ftrength of other Herbs thy prey,
The huntress thou thyfelf for nets dof lay.
Live, Riddle! he that would thy mysteries
Unfold, muft with fome Oedipus advife.
No wonder in your arms the Plants you hold.
Thou being all arms must needs them fo infold:
For thee large threads the Fatal Sifters spin,
But to your work, nor woof, nor web, put in:
Hence 'tis that you fo intricately twine
About the flax which yields fo long a line.
Oh! fpoufe moft conftant to a Plant moft dear,
Than whom no couple c'er more loving were.
No more let Love of wanton ivy boast,
Her kindness is th' effect of nought but luft:
Another fhe enjoys; but that her love
And the are two, many diftinctions prove.
Their ftrength and leaves are diff'rent,and her fruit
Puts all the difference beyond difpute.
The likenefs to the parent does profeis
That the in that is no adulterefs.
Her root with different juices is supply'd,
And the her maiden-name bears, tho' a bride:
But Dodder on her fpoufe depends alone,
And nothing in herself can call her own ;
Fed with his juice, the on his ftalk is born,
And thinks his leaves her head full well adorn,
Whoe'er he be, the loves to take his name,
And mult with him be ev'ry way the fame.
Alcefte and Evadne, thus inflam'd,

Are, with fome others, for their passion fam'd:
So, Dodder! for thy hufband Flax thou'dit die,
I guess, but may'st thou speed more luckily.
This is her living paflion, but the grows
Still more renown'd for kindnefs which fhe fhews
To mortal men when the 'as refign'd her breath,
For the of them is mindful even in death.
The liver and the spleen most faithfully
Of all oppreflions fhe does cafe and free.

Where has fo fmall a Plant fuch ftrength and ftore

Of virtues, when her husband 's weak and poor?
Who 'd think the liver fhould affiance need,
A noble part, from fuch a wretched weed?
Ufe, therefore, little things, nor take it ill
That men fmall things preferve, for lefs may kill.

Wormwood".

'MONG children I a baneful weed am thought,
By none but hags or fiends defir'd or fought:
They think a doctor is in jeft, or mad,
If he agrees not that my juice is bad.
The women alfo I offend, I know,
Tho' to my bounteous hands fo much they owe.
Few palates do my bitter taste approve;
How few, alas! are well inform'd by Jove?
Sweet things alone they love: but in the end
They find what bitter gufts thofe fweets attend.
Long naufeoufnefs fucceeds their short-liv'd joys,
And that which fo much pleas'd the palate cloys.
The palate justly fuffers for the wrong
She 'as done the ftomach, into which fo long
All tafteful food fhe cramm'd, till now, quite tir'd,
She loaths the daintics fhe before admir'd.
A grievous ftench does from the ftomach rife,
And from the mouth Lernaan poifon flies:
Th

they're content to drink my harfher juice,
Which for its bitterness they ne'er refufe.
It does not idle in the ftomach lie,

But, like fome god, gives prefent remedy.
(So the warm fun my vigour does restore,
When he returns, and the cold winter 's o'er.)
There I a jakes out of a table throw,
And Hercules's labour undergo.

The ftomach eas'd, its office does repeat,
And with new-living fire conceds the meat :
The purple tincture foon it does a veur,
Nor does that chyle the hungry veins o'erpower.
The vifage by degrees fresh rofes ftain,
And the perfumed breath grows fweet again.
The good I do Venus herself will own;
She, tho' all sweets, yet loves not fweets alone;
She wildly mixes with my juice her joys,
And her delights with bitter things alloys.
We Herbs to different ftudies are inclined,
And every faction does its author find:
Some Epicurus' fentiments defend,
And follow plcafure as their only end:
It is their pride and boatt fweet fruits to bear,
And on their heads they flow'ry chaplets wear;
Whilft others, courting rigid Zeno's fect,
In vittue fruitful, all things elfe neglect:
They love not pomp, or what delights the fenfe,
And think all 's well if they give no offence.
And none a greater Stoic is than J,
The Stoa's pillars on my falk rely.
Let others pleafe, to profit is my pleasure,
The love I flowly gain 's a lafting treasure,
In towns debauch'd he's the beft officer
Who moft cenforious is and most severe :
Such I am, and fuch you, dear Cato! were.

Itrengthens the ftomach and purges it of cheler, wind, and cruditis. It is food against the dropfy and worms, which occafioned the nam., Wormwood.

(Voracious Worm! thou wilt most certainly
Heir of our bodies be whene'er we die;
Defer a while the meal which, in the grave,
Of human viands thou e'er long must have.)
Thofe vermine infants' bowels make their food,
And love to fuck their fill of tender blood:
They cannot flay till Death ferves up their feaft,
But greedily fnatch up the meat undrefs'd.
Why fhould I fpeak of fleas? fuch foes 1 hate,
So bafe, born, ev'n to enumerate;
Such duit-born, fkipping points of life, I fay,
Whofe only virtue is to run away.
My triumphs to such numbers do amount,
That I the greater ones can hardly count:
To fuch a bulk the vast account does fwell,
That I fome trophies lofe which 1 fhould tell.
Oft' wand'ring Death is fcatter'd thro' the fkies,
And thro' the elements infection flics:
The carth below is fick, the air above;
Slow rivers prove they 're fickly whilft they move:
All things Death's arms in cold embraces catch,
Life even the vital air away doth snatch.
To remedy fuch evils God took eare,
Nor me as leaft of med'cines did prepare.
Oft', too, they fay, I (tho' no giant neither)
Have born the fhock of three ftrong foes together:
Not without reafon, therefore, or in vain,
Did conqu'ring Rome my honour fo maintain:
The conqu'ror a triumphal draught of me
Drank as the guerdon of his victory;
Holding the crowned goblet in his hand,
He cry'd aloud, "This cup can health command;
Nor does it 'caufe 'tis bitter please me lefs;
"My toils were to in which I met fuccefs."