“Fresh as the houres may all your pleasures be,
And healthfull as Eternitie!
Sweet as the flowre’s first breath, and close
As th’ unseen spreadings of the Rose
When she unfolds her curtained head,
And makes her bosome the Sun’s bed!”
The translations from Ovid, Boece, and Cassimir, are excellent.
The following lines conclude an invitation to a friend:—
“Come then! and while the slow isicle hangs
At the stifle thatch, and Winter’s frosty pangs