Soft than the finest Lemster ore,
Mildly disparkling like those fires
Which break from the enjewell'd tyres
Of curious brides; or like those mites
Of candi'd dew in moony nights.
Upon this convex all the flowers
Nature begets by th' sun and showers,
Are to a wild digestion brought,
As if love's sampler here was wrought:
Or Citherea's ceston, which
All with temptation doth bewitch.
Sweet airs move here, and more divine
Made by the breath of great-eyed kine,
Who, as they low, impearl with milk
The four-leaved grass or moss like silk.
The breath of monkeys met to mix
With musk-flies are th' aromatics
Which 'cense this arch; and here and there
And farther off, and everywhere
Throughout that brave mosaic yard,
Those picks or diamonds in the card
With peeps of hearts, of club, and spade
Are here most neatly inter-laid
Many a counter, many a die,
Half-rotten and without an eye
Lies hereabouts; and, for to pave
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