My Vegetable Love Should Grow Vaster Than

Thus, Though We Cannot Make Our Sun Stand Still, Yet We Will Make Him Run

But Fate Does Iron Wedges Drive, And Always Crowds Itself Betwixt.

So Much One Man Can Do That Does Both Act And Know.

Music, The Mosaic Of The Air.

No White Nor Red Was Ever Seen So Am'rous As This Lovely Green. Fond Lovers, Cruel As Their Flame, Cut In These Trees Their Mistress' Name. Little, Alas, They Know Or Heed How Far These Beauties Hers Exceed! Fair Trees! Where S'e'er Your Barks I Wound, No Name Shall But Your Own Be Found.