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To the most adorned with Virtue, Beauty, and Noble Qualities, The Lady HANMER, The worthily-beloved Wife of Sir Thomas Hanmer, Baronet.
MADAM,
THese Paper Plants and speaking Flow'rs
Are sent to him that is All yours:
So by that Title now alone
This Book is yours, you Two b'ing One.
The Flow'rs inscrib'd you soon will know;
They all in your own Garden grow:
And those to others seem most new,
Are old and obsolete with you.
You are a Florist born and bred,
And to a Florist married;
Whose skill united can revive
Each tender drooping Vegetive;
Call ev'ry Flower by its name,
And tell from whence to us they came.
At first no Laurels we do send;
But when Desert hath crown'd the End
A Pyramis we raise to Fame:
Such glory hath your honour'd Name,
It can preserve this Paper Tomb
Untill the end of all things come:
For to th' account of Beauties chaste
You have a Nil plus ultra plac'd.
So radiant is your Virtues fame,
It kindles in each Breast a flame;
To erring Ladies lights the way,
By your Example not to stray:
For (like Penelope) you stay
At home, and sweetly spend the day.
In Spring, when Flow'rs your Gardens grace,
With Needle or Pencil you can trace
Each curious Form, and various Dye
So represent unto the Eye,
Nobly proportion ev'ry part,
That Nature blushes at your art.
In Somer you walk forth to fill
Baskets with Roses for the Still: