Sijn altyt even gaef, sy konnen ’t ooghe voên.
(On my garden of silk
How much Cassius may pride himself and boast of all his fruit
Grown outside Rome and on the Tiber’s border;
How much Lucullus may praise his flowers, plants and twigs,
His lawns, his tree-garden, his seeds and a fine orchard—
All these can be scattered by the wind, a shower, or a gust;
So that the flower fades and the ripe fruit perishes,
But my silken garden will remain for ever.
My fruit satisfies the greedy eye, but not the mouth;