As Flora's breast with buds.
Speu. By Hector's spur,
It pricks to think this valor-breasted night,
Bristling with action's pikes toward charging death,
Should e'er beg life of tolerant memory,
Thankful for so much breath as may endow
A musty adage in the mouth of peace,
Or shepherd song piped by an idle rill
To meek-eared violets in noonday shade!
O! O! my lady Fame must have her nap.