That so far surpast her feature.
When thou shew’st how fairest Flora
Prankt with pride the banks of Ora,
So thy verse her streames doth honour,
Strangers grow enamoured on her,
All the swans that swim in Po
Would their native brooks forgo,
And, as loathing Phoebus beams,
Long to bath in cooler streames.
Tree-turn’d Daphne would be seen