2 
Saying surely each blossom would exquisite be 
Were the sprig my own planting and nurtur’d by me. 
The pinions of Love far swifter than wind. 
Had left all the breezes of morning behind ; 
But Frolic and Fancy continued their sway 
One sat on his wings, and one guided his way: 
They are favourite playmates of Venus’s son, 
Projecting his pastimes and leading him on. 
Now being on mischievous pleasure intent, 
Consulting them whither his course should be bent. 
They show’d him a garden and bade him explore, 
Love laugh’d at the lock and brokfe open the door; 
Then enter’d in triumph, for Beauty was there, 
And flow’rets of loveliness perfumed the air: 
And the birds amid blossoms were warbling their lays 
Till the little god thought they were singing his praise. 
Now slily he peep’d in the bee-hives to see 
How honey was made by the labouring bee. 
