THE GARDEN BY A. COWLEY 



By sympathy the voice of wood. Dwelling 



Y among 



These are the spells, that to kind sleep invite, an( j roses 

 And nothing does within resistance make, 



Which yet we moderately take; 



Who would not choose to be awake, 

 While he's encompass'd round with such de- 

 light, 

 To th' 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 od'rous herbs and flowers beneath him 

 spread, 



As the most soft and sweetest bed ; 

 Not her own lap would more have charm'd 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 th' 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. 

 55 



