46
Which Xerxes so much lov'd, or of the Lime,
Or the tall Pine, which spreads, as it doth climbe?
Or Lovers Sicamore, or mine owne Bay?
On which, since my Euridices sad day,
My Harp hath silent hung: No Trees your Bowre
Shall need; the slender stalke of ev'ry Flow'r,
When you arrive among us, and dispence
The lib'rall comfort of your influence,
Shall reach at Body, Rinde, and Boughs; then grow
Till't yeeld a Shade, as well as Scent, and Show,
For your Attendants here; Tomiris, she
That taught her tender sex, the wayes to victorie;
The Queene of Ithaca, whose precious name
For chaste desires, is decre to us, and Fame;
And Artimesia whom Truths best Record,
Declar'd a living Tomb unto her Lord,
Shall ever wait upon your sway; and when
The Destinies are so much vex'd with Men,
That the just God-like Monarch of your brest,
Is ripe, and fit to take eternall rest;
To court his spirit here, I will not call
The testy Pyrrhus, or malicious Hanibal;
Or the tall Pine, which spreads, as it doth climbe?
Or Lovers Sicamore, or mine owne Bay?
On which, since my Euridices sad day,
My Harp hath silent hung: No Trees your Bowre
Shall need; the slender stalke of ev'ry Flow'r,
When you arrive among us, and dispence
The lib'rall comfort of your influence,
Shall reach at Body, Rinde, and Boughs; then grow
Till't yeeld a Shade, as well as Scent, and Show,
For your Attendants here; Tomiris, she
That taught her tender sex, the wayes to victorie;
The Queene of Ithaca, whose precious name
For chaste desires, is decre to us, and Fame;
And Artimesia whom Truths best Record,
Declar'd a living Tomb unto her Lord,
Shall ever wait upon your sway; and when
The Destinies are so much vex'd with Men,
That the just God-like Monarch of your brest,
Is ripe, and fit to take eternall rest;
To court his spirit here, I will not call
The testy Pyrrhus, or malicious Hanibal;
Nor
