This Plant is knotlesse that puts forth these leaves, Upon whose Branches I his praise doe sing: Fruitfull the Ground, whose verdure it receives From fertile Nature, and the learned Spring. In zeale to Good; knowne, but unpractiz'd Ill, Chast in his thoughts, though in his youthfull Prime, He writes of Past'rall Love, with Nectar'd Quill, And offers up his first Fruits unto Time. Receive them (Time) and in thy Border place them Among thy various Flowers of Poesie; No Envy blast, nor Ignorance deface them, But keepe them fresh in fairest Memorie! And, when from Daphne's tree he plucks more Baies, His Shepheards Pipe may chant more heav'nly laies.
