7.
But with no Sense the Garden does comply;
None courts or flatters, as it does the Eye:
When the great Hebrew King did almost strain
The wond’rous Treasures of his Wealth and Brain,
His Royal Southern Guest to entertain;
Though she on Silver Floors did tread,
With bright Assyrian Carpets on them spread,
To hide the Metals Poverty:
Though she look’d up to Roofs of Gold,
And nought around her could behold
But Silk and rich Embroidery,
And Babylonian Tapistry,
And wealthy Hiram’s Princely Dy:
Though Ophirs Starry Stones met every where her Eye;
Though she her self and her gay Host were drest
With all the shining Glories of the East;
When lavish Art her costly work had done,
The honour and the Prize of Bravery
Was by the Garden from the Palace won;
And every Rose and Lilly there did stand
Better attir’d by Natures hand:
The case thus judg’d against the King we see,
By one that would not be so Rich, though Wiser far than he.
8.
Nor does this happy place only dispense
Such various Pleasures to the Sense,
Here Health it self does live,
That Salt of Life which does to all a relish give,
Its standing Pleasure, and intrinsick Wealth,
The Bodies Virtue, and the Souls good Fortune, Health.
The Tree of Life, when it in Eden stood,
Did its Immortal Head to Heaven rear;
It lasted a tall Cedar till the Flood;
Now a small thorny Shrub it does appear;
Nor will it thrive too every where:
It always here is freshest seen;
’Tis only here an Ever-green.
If through the strong and beauteous Fence
Of Temperance and Innocence,
And wholesome Labours, and a quiet Mind,
Diseases Passage find,
They must not think here to assail
A Land unarmed, or without a Guard;
They must fight for it, and dispute it hard,
Before they can prevail:
Scarce any Plant is growing here
Which against Death some Weapon does not bear.
Let Cities boast, that they provide
For Life the Ornaments of Pride;
But ’tis the Country and the Field,
That furnish it with Staff and Shield.
9.
Where does the Wisdom and the Power Divine
In a more bright and sweet Reflection shine?
Where do we finer Strokes and Colours see
Of the Creator’s real Poetry,
Than when we with attention look
Upon the third days Volume of the Book?
If we could open and intend our Eye,
We all like Moses should espy
Ev’n in a Bush the radiant Deity.
But we despise these his inferior ways,
(Though no less full of Miracle and Praise)
Upon the Flowers of Heaven we gaze;
The Stars of Earth no wonder in us raise,
Though these perhaps do more than they,
The Life of Mankind sway.
Although no part of mighty Nature be
More stor’d with Beauty, Power, and Mystery;
Yet to encourage human Industry,
God has so ordered, that no other Part
Such Space, and such Dominion leaves for Art.
10.
We no where Art do so triumphant see,
As when it Grafts or Buds the Tree;
In other things we count it to excel,
If it a Docile Scholar can appear
To Nature, and but imitate her well;
It over-rules, and is her Master here.
It imitates her Makers Power Divine,
And changes her sometimes, and sometimes does refine:
It does, like Grace, the fallen Tree restore
To its blest State of Paradise before:
Who would not joy to see his conquering hand
O’er all the vegetable World command?
And the wild Giants of the Wood receive
What Law he’s pleas’d to give?
He bids th’ ill-natur’d Crab produce
The gentle Apples Winy Juice;
The golden Fruit that worthy is
Of Galetea’s purple Kiss;
He does the savage Hawthorn teach
To bear the Medlar and the Pear,
He bids the rustick Plumb to rear
A noble Trunk, and be a Peach,
Ev’n Daphnes Coyness he does mock,
And weds the Cherry to her stock,
Though she refus’d Apollo’s suit;
Ev’n she, that chast and Virgin-tree
Now wonders at her self, to see
That she’s a Mother made, and blushes in her fruit.
11.
Methinks I see Great Diocletian walk
In the Salonian Gardens noble Shade,
Which by his own Imperial hands was made:
I see him smile, methinks, as he does talk
With the Ambassadors, who come in vain
T’ entice him to a Throne again:
If I, my Friends (said he) should to you show
All the Delights, which in these Gardens grow;
’Tis likelier much, that you should with me stay,
Than ’tis that you should carry me away:
And trust me not, my Friends, if every day,
I walk not here with more delight,
Than ever after the most happy fight,
In Triumph to the Capitol I rod,
To thank the gods, and to be thought my self almost a god.