He that to ancient wreaths can bring no more

Like an ambassador that beds a queen With the nice caution of a sword between.

The marigold, whose courtier's face Echoes the sun, and doth unlace Her at his rise, at his full stop Packs and shuts up her gaudy shop.

Never Mark Antony Dallied more wantonly With the fair Egyptian Queen.

Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom; Not made him wander, but continued him home.

But see! the pains begin to fly; Tho’ Venus bled she could not die: See the new phœnix point her eyes, And lovelier from her ashes rise.

Brighter from her disease she shines, As fire the precious gold refines. Thus when the silent grave becomes Pregnant with life as fruitful wombs; When the wide seas and spacious earth Resign us to our second birth;