Whose love prepost’rous gave a flow’r a name.
XLVII.
The proud Carnation dipp’d in brightest dyes,
Who still with thirst of praise and glory burns;
With her whose mirrour cheats deluded eyes[8],
And she that still to her lov’d Phœbus turns[9].
XLVIII.
There, with their num’rous chiefs of diff’rent hues,
The painted Cock’s Comb, and his lofty train,
Their beauties vaunting, to the rest refuse