Who can foretell for what high cause This darling of the gods was born? Yet this is she whose chaster laws The wanton Love shall one day fear, And, under her command severe, See his bow broke, and ensigns torn.
Happy who can Appease this virtuous enemy of man!
O then let me in time compound And parley with those conquering eyes, Ere they have tried their force to wound; Ere with their glancing wheels they drive In triumph over hearts that strive, And them that yield but more despise: Let me be laid, Where I may see the glories from some shade.
Meantime, whilst every verdant thing Itself does at thy beauty charm, Reform the errors of the Spring; Make that the tulips may have share Of sweetness, seeing they are fair, And roses of their thorns disarm; But most procure That violets may a longer age endure.
But O young beauty of the woods, Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, Gather the flowers, but spare the buds; Lest Flora, angry at thy crime To kill her infants in their prime, Should quickly make the example yours; And, ere we see, Nip, in the blossom, all our hopes in thee.
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