Why haste you hence Castara? can the earth,
A glorious mother, in her flowry birth,
Shew Lillies like thy brow? Can she disclose
In emulation of thy cheeke, a Rose,
Sweete as thy blush? Upon thy selfe then set
Just value, and scorne it, thy counterfet.
The Spring's still with thee; But perhaps the field,
Not warm'd with thy approach, wants force to yeeld,
Her tribute to the Plough; O rather let
Th' ingratefull earth for ever be in debt