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modeft, where I introduce Plants speaking, to whom the Sacred Writ itself does speak as to intelligent beings: "Blefs the Lord, all ye green things upon the earth; praise and exalt him for ever," Dan. ch. iii. ver. 54. Apocr. Thofe fictions are not to be accounted for lies which cannot be believed, nor defire to be fo. But that the names of Heathen deities and fabulous transformations are fometimes intermixed, the matter it felf compelled me against my will, being no other way capable of embellishment; and it is well if, by that means, we are fo. No painted garb is to be preferred to the native dress and living colours of truth; yet in fome perfons, and on fome occa- | fions, it is more agreeable. There was a time when it did not mifbecome a king to dance, yet it had certainly been indecent for him to have danced in his coronation-robes. You are not, therefore, to expect in a work of this nature, the majefty of an heroic ftyle, (which I never found any Plant to speak in) for I propose not here to fly, but only to walk in my garden, partly for health's fake, and partly for recreation.

There remains a third difficulty, which will not, perhaps, fo easily be folved. I had fome time fince been refolved in myfelf to write more verfes, and made thereof fuch public and folemn proteftation as almoft amounts to an oath :

Eunuch, Scen. I

Si quidem hercle poffim nil prias, neque fortius. When, behold! I have fet in anew. Concerning which matter, because I remember myself to have formerly given an account in metre, I am willing (and Martial affirms it to be a poet's right) to clofe my Epiftle therewith; they were written to a learned and a moft ingenious friend, who laboured under the very fame difeafe, tho' not with the fame dangerous fymptoms.

More poetry! you'll cry. Doft tkou return, Fond Man! to the difeafe thou baft forefworn?

It has reach'd thy marrow, feiz'd thy inmoft fenfe,
And force or reafon cannot draw it thence.
Think'ft thou that Heav'n thy liberty allows,
And laughs at poets' as at lovers' vows?
Forbear, my Friends ! to round with fearp difcourfe
A wretched man that feels too much remorse,
Fate drags me on againft my will, in vain
fruggle, fret, and try to break my chain.
Tbrice I took bellebore, and, must confefs,
Hop'd I was fairly quit of the difeafe;
But the Moon's pow'r, to which all Herbs muft yield,
Bids me be mad again, and gains the field:
At ber command for pen and ink I call,
And in one morn three hundred rhymes let fall ;
Which, in the transport of my frantic fit,
I throw, like ftones, at the next man I meet:
Ev'n thee, my Friend! Apollo-like I wound,
The arrows fly, the firing and bow refound.
What methods canft thou study to reclaim
Whom nor his own nor public griefs can tame ?
Who in all feafons keep my chirping frain,
A grasshopper that fings in froft and rain.
Like her rubom boys, and youths, and elders, knew,
I fee the path my judgment bould pursue,
But what can naked I 'gainst armed Nature do?
I'm no Tydides, whom a pow'r divine
Could overcome; I muft, I must refign.
Ev'n thou, my Friend! (unless I much mistake)
Whofe thund'ring fermons make the pulpit foake,
Unfold the fecrets of the world to come,
And bid the trembling earth expect its doom,
As if Elias were come down in fire;
Yet thou at night does to thy glass retire
Like one of us, and (after mod`rate use
Of th' Indian fume, and European juice)
Sett'st into rhyme, and doft thy Mufe carefs,
In learn'd conceits and harmless wantonness:
'Tis therefore just thou shouldft excufe thy friend
Who's none of thofe that trifle without end
I can be ferious, too, when bus'ness calls,
My frenzy ftill has lucid intervals.

Some parts the pally oft' of fenfe deprives
And motion, (strange effect!) one side survives
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 rest.
Ah! Life! thou art Death's image, but that thee
In nought refembles 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 thakes,
Thefe, and all evils which the brain infeft,
(For numerous faucy griefs that part moleft)
Me Phœbus bade by conftant war restrain,
Saying, "My kingdom, Child? fee you maintain."
And straight he gave me arms well-forg'd from
Like thole to Aneas or Achilles giv'n. [heav'n,
One wondrous leaf he wifely did create
'Gainft all the darts of Sickness 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 bestow
Such arms on me, nor fhall they rully 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 ftrives to expel the foe,
But fecks the help of pow'rful med'cines too;
It comes to me, I my affiftance lend,
Open th' obftructed pores, and gently fend
Refreshment to the heart. Cool gales abate
Th' internal heat, and it grows temperate.
The quartan ague its dry holes forfakes,
As adders do; dropfies, like water-fnakes,
With liquid aliment no longer fed,
By me are forc'd to fly their wat'ry bed.
lofs of appetite repair, and heat

The ftomach, to concoct the food men cat.
Torturing gripes I in the guts allay,
And send out murm'ring blafts the backward way.
I wash the faffron jaundice off the skin,
And cafe the kidneys of dire ftones within.
Thick blood that stands in women's veins I foon
Force to flow down, more pow'rful than the moon:
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 food.
I all the tumults of the womb appeafe,
And to the head, which that diilurbs, give eafe.
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 fwiftly fhurs,
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,
An 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 bless,
And pains as pleafant make as idleness.
Nor do I only life's fatigue relieve,

But t' is adorn'd with what I treely give :
I make the colour of the blood more bright,
And clothe the fkin with a more graceful white.

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

I

were:

Maidenbair, or Venufbair *.

BEING the chief of all the Hairy state,
Me they have chofen for their advecate,
To speak on their behalf: now we, you know,
Among the other Plants make no finall fhew;
And fern, too, far and near which does prefide
O'er the wild fields, is to our kind ally'd.
Some hairy comets also hence derive,
And marriages of itars 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 herself my debtor is, she 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 shoulders. 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 boath of treafures 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'ts 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 modcitly to fup: [Rhine,
You'd think the German drunkards, near the
Were keeping holyday with them in wine;

* The name it bears, hecaof it tinges the hair, and is to this Purpute boiled in wire with parfley feed, and plenty of oil, which render the Lal thick and culling, and keeps it from falling. It is a ways great, but never flowers. It delights in dry places, and is ədvəlik Hughes, but withers not in winter. Plin.

X

Meanwhile blufh, flake 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 phyficians 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, whilft they with speed before me flow:
Ten thousand maladies down with 'em they,
Like monsters 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 ftars 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 mansion stands,
And with a view the limbs below commands:
Sure fome great architect this pile defign'd,
Where all the world is to a fpan confin'd.
A mighty throng of fpirits here refide,
Which to the foul are very near ally'd:
Here the grand council's held; hence to and fro
The fpirits fcout to see what news below;
Bufy 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 strength.
Oft, too, as they in pains bestow their hours,
The airy vagrants koftile heat devours.
Oft' in venereal raptures they expire,

Or burnt by wine, and drown'd in liquid fire.
Then leaden sleep does on the fenfes feize,
And with dull drowzincfs the vitals freeze.
Cold floods of dire diftempers fwifty 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 shakes
You'd think the hands fear'd poifon in the cup,
They tremble fo, and cannot lift it up.
Henee, Sage! 'tis manifeft what thou canft 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 spirits thou bring'ft fresh recruits,
When they are wearied in fuch long difputes:

The virtues of Sage are highly celebrated is all authors, parti. culari the writer of Schola Sale,pitana, who may be confulted. It is hot in the firft, and dry in the fecond d.get. It is cally aitringent, and fays biceding It trungthens the ftomach and brains, and Iouzes a dul appetite; but its cubar faculty is to corroborate the nerves, and to oppole alt dricale incident o taem: hence it hath the highest reputation among medicarsents for use memory.

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

Loofe teeth thou faften'ft, which at thy command
Well-rivetted in their firm fockets stand:
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 itfelt anticipate;
Let a man live before he meets his fate;
Thou'rt tom fevere, if, in the very dock,
Our fhip, before 'tis built, ftrikes on a rock.
Of thy perfections this is but a taste;
You bring to view things abfent, and what's past
Recal: fuch tracks i' th' mind of things you make,
None can the well-form'd characters niiftake;
And left the colours there fhould fade away,
Your oil embalms, and keeps 'em from decay.

Baum.

HENCE, Cares my conftant troublefome com

pany;

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

All forms and clouds you banish 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 difturbance 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 freeft the mind:
All plagues annoy, but cares the whole man feize,
Whene'er we labour under this disease:
Thefe, though in profp'rous affluence we live,
To all our joys a bitter tincture give:
Frail human nature its own poifon breeds,
And life itself thy healing virtue needs.

Baum is her and dry, in the firft degree. It is excellent again melancholy, and the evils arifing therefrom It caules checrtulacfs a good digeftion, and a forid colour. The leaves are faid, by ne who mind gnatures, to refemble a heart.

Scurvygrafs .

[word,

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 tongue a nearer does afford.
Deftructive Monster! God ne'er laid a curfe
On man like this, nor could he send a worie.
A thousand horrid shapes the monster wears,
And in as many hands fierce arms it bears.
This water-ferpent in the belly's bred,

By muddy fens and futph'rous moistures fed.
Him either floth, or too much labour breeds,
He both from eafe and pain itfelt proceeds;
Oft' from a dying fever he receives
His birth, and in the afhes of it lives.
Of him just 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 stand,
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;
Monfters now ape that moniter-inurd'ring man.
E'er he's well born, the limbs he does opprefs,
And they are tir'd with very idleness;
They languish, and deliberating stand,
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 streams in azure channels flow,
Then the bold enemy fhews he is too nigh;
One fo mifchievous cannot hidden lic.

The teeth drop out, and noisome grows the breath,
The man not only fmells, but looks like Death.
Qualms, vomiting, and torturing gripes within,
Befides unfeemly fpots upon the ikin,
His other symptoms are; with clouds the mind
He overcafts, and, fettering the fenfe,
To life itfelf makes living an offence.

This monster Nature gave me to fubdue,
(Such feats with Herbs t' accomplish 'tis not new)
So the fierce Bull, and watchful Dragon too,
On Colchis' fhore the valiant Jafon flew;
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
Pefide, (may all phyficians to be paid.)
The hardness of my talk my courage fir'd,
A pow'rful foe was that I moft delir'd.
I love to be commended, I must own,
And that my name in phyfic-books be shewn.
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 juftiy, may not I ;

Scurvygrafs is reckoned amerg the medicines peculiar to this 4af12 opens, penetrates, renders volatile the Crude and gick Samours, purges by urine and Tweat, and lengthens the entrans.

When Grecian names did other Plants adorn,
And were by them as marks of honour born,
I grew inglorious on the British coast,
(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 1.
Now fure 'tis time thofe loffes were regain'd,
Which in my youth and fame fo long I have fuf-
tain'd:

'Tis time, and fo they are; now I am known,
Thro' all the univerfe 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 stalk, nor root, can'ft fhew
How, in this penfile pofture, 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 yourself are a far greater one.
To make the strength of other Herbs thy prey,
The huntress thou thyfelf for nets doft lay.
Live, Riddle! he that would thy myfteries
Unfold, muft with fome Oedipus advise.
No wonder in your arms the Plants you hold.
Thou being all arms muft needs them fo infold:
For thee large threads the Fatal Sifters fpin,
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! spouse most conftant to a Plant most dear,
Than whom no couple e'er more loving were.
No more let Love of wanton ivy boaft,
Her kindness is th' effect of nought but luft:
Another the enjoys; but that her love
And the are two, many diftin&tions prove.
Their ftrength and leaves are diff'rent, and her fruit
Puts all the difference beyond difpute.
The likeness to the parent does profefs
That fhe in that is no adulterefs.
Her root with different juices is fupply'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, fhe 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 muft with him be ev'ry way the fame.
Alcefte and Evadne, thus infiam'd,

Are, with fome others, for their paffion fam'd;
So, Dodder! for thy hufband Flax thou'dft die,
I guess, but may't thou speed more luckily.
This is her living paffion, but the grows
Still more renown'd for kindnefs which the fhews
To mortal men when the 'as refign'd her breath,
For the of them is mindful even in death.
The liver and the ipleen moft faithfully
Of all oppreflions the does cafe and free.

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