WHen, thou shalt visit, in the Moneth of May,
A costly Garden, in her best array;
And, view the well-grown Trees, the wel-trimm'd Bowers,
The Beds of Herbs, the knots of pleasant flowers,
With all the deckings, and the fine devices,
Perteyning to those earthly Paradises,
Thou canst not well suppose, one day, or two,
Did finish all, which had beene, there, to doe.
Nor dost thou, when young Plants, or new-sowne Lands,
Doe thirst for needfull Watrings, from thy hands,