V.

These are the spells that to kind sleep invite, And nothing does within resistance make; Which yet we moderately take; Who would not choose to be awake, While he’s encompassed round with such delight; To the ear, the nose, the touch, the taste and sight? When Venus would her dear Ascanius keep A prisoner in the downy bands of sleep, She odorous herbs and flowers beneath him spread, As the most soft and sweetest bed; Not her own lap would more have charmed his head. Who that has reason and his smell Would not among roses and jasmine dwell, Rather than all his spirits choke, With exhalations of dirt and smoke, And all the uncleanness which does drown In pestilential clouds a populous town? The earth itself breathes better perfumes here, Than all the female men or women there, Not without cause, about them bear.

VI.

When Epicurus to the world had taught That pleasure was the chiefest good, (And was perhaps i’ th’ right, if rightly understood)  His life he to his doctrine brought, And in a garden’s shade that sovereign pleasure sought. Whoever a true epicure would be, May there find cheap and virtuous luxury. Vitellius his table, which did hold As many creatures as the Ark of old, That fiscal table, to which every day All countries did a constant tribute pay, Could nothing more delicious afford Than Nature’s liberality, Helped with a little art and industry, Allows the meanest gardener’s board. The wanton taste no fish or fowl can choose For which the grape or melon she would lose, Though all the inhabitants of sea and air Be listed in the glutton’s bill of fare; Yet still the fruits of earth we see Placed the third storey high in all her luxury.

VII.

But with no sense the garden does comply, None courts or flatters, as it does the eye; When the great Hebrew king did almost strain The wondrous treasures of his wealth and brain His royal southern guest to entertain, Though, she on silver floors did tread, With bright Assyrian carpets on them spread To hide the metal’s poverty; Though she looked up to roofs of gold, And nought around her could behold But silk and rich embroidery, And Babylonian tapestry, And wealthy Hiram’s princely dye: Though Ophir’s starry stones met everywhere her eye; Though she herself and her gay host were dressed With all the shining glories of the East; When lavish art her costly work had done; The honour and the prize of bravery Was by the Garden from the Palace won; And every rose and lily there did stand Better attired by Nature’s hand: The case thus judged against the king 

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