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Best Famous Andrew Marvell Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Andrew Marvell poems. This is a select list of the best famous Andrew Marvell poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Andrew Marvell poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Andrew Marvell poems.

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Written by Andrew Marvell |

To His Coy Mistress

  Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain.
I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires and more slow; An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long-preserved virginity, And your quaint honor turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust: The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may, And now, like amorous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour Than languish in his slow-chapped power.
Let us roll all our strength and all Our sweetness up into one ball, And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life: Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run.

Written by Andrew Marvell |

The Gallery

Clora, come view my soul, and tell
Whether I have contrived it well.
Now all its several lodgings lie Composed into one gallery; And the great arras-hangings, made Of various faces, by are laid; That, for all furniture, you'll find Only your picture in my mind.
Here thou art painted in the dress Of an inhuman murderess; Examining upon our hearts Thy fertile shop of cruel arts: Engines more keen than ever yet Adornèd tyrant's cabinet; Of which the most tormenting are Black eyes, red lips, and curlèd hair.
But, on the other side, thou'rt drawn Like to Aurora in the dawn; When in the east she slumb'ring lies, And stretches out her milky thighs; While all the morning choir does sing, And manna falls, and roses spring; And, at thy feet, the wooing doves Sit perfecting their harmless loves.
Like an enchantress here thou show'st, Vexing thy restless lover's ghost; And, by a light obscure, dost rave Over his entrails, in the cave; Divining thence, with horrid care, How long thou shalt continue fair; And (when informed) them throw'st away, To be the greedy vulture's prey.
But, against that, thou sit'st afloat Like Venus in her pearly boat.
The halcyons, calming all that's nigh, Betwixt the air and water fly: Or, if some rolling wave appears, A mass of ambergris it bears: Nor blows more wind than what may well Convoy the perfume to the smell.
These pictures and a thousand more, Of thee, my gallery do store; In all the forms thou canst invent Either to please me, or torment: For thou alone to people me, Art grown a num'rous colony; And a collection choicer far Than or Whitehall's, or Mantua's were.
But, of these pictures and the rest, That at the entrance likes me best; Where the same posture, and the look Remains, with which I first was took: A tender shepherdess, whose hair Hangs loosely playing in the air, Transplanting flowers from the green hill, To crown her head, and bosom fill.

Written by Andrew Marvell |

The Mowers Song

 My Mind was once the true survey
Of all these Medows fresh and gay;
And in the greenness of the Grass
Did see its Hopes as in a Glass;
When Juliana came, and she
What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But these, while I with Sorrow pine, Grew more luxuriant still and fine; That not one Blade of Grass you spy'd, But had a Flower on either side; When Juliana came, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
Unthankful Meadows, could you so A fellowship so true forego, And in your gawdy May-games meet, While I lay trodden under feet? When Juliana came , and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
But what you in Compassion ought, Shall now by my Revenge be wrought: And Flow'rs, and Grass, and I and all, Will in one common Ruine fall.
For Juliana comes, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.
And thus, ye Meadows, which have been Companions of my thoughts more green, Shall now the Heraldry become With which I shall adorn my Tomb; For Juliana comes, and She What I do to the Grass, does to my Thoughts and Me.

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Written by Andrew Marvell |

A Dialogue Between The Soul And Body

O Who shall, from this Dungeon, raise
A Soul inslav'd so many wayes?
With bolts of Bones, that fetter'd stands
In Feet ; and manacled in Hands.
Here blinded with an Eye ; and there Deaf with the drumming of an Ear.
A Soul hung up, as 'twere, in Chains Of Nerves, and Arteries, and Veins.
Tortur'd, besides each other part,1 In a vain Head, and double Heart.
Body O who shall me deliver whole, From bonds of this Tyrannic Soul? Which, stretcht upright, impales me so, That mine own Precipice I go; And warms and moves this needless Frame: (A Fever could but do the same.
) And, wanting where its spight to try, Has made me live to let me dye.
A Body that could never rest, Since this ill Spirit it possest.
Soul What Magic could me thus confine Within anothers Grief to pine? Where whatsoever it complain, I feel, that cannot feel, the pain.
And all my Care its self employes, That to preserve, which me destroys: Constrain'd not only to indure Diseases, but, whats worse, the Cure: And ready oft the Port to gain, Am Shipwrackt into Health again.
Body But Physick yet could never reach The Maladies Thou me dost teach; Whom first the Cramp of Hope does Tear: And then the Palsie Shakes of Fear.
The Pestilence of Love does heat : Or Hatred's hidden Ulcer eat.
Joy's chearful Madness does perplex: Or Sorrow's other Madness vex.
Which Knowledge forces me to know; And Memory will not foregoe.
What but a Soul could have the wit To build me up for Sin so fit? So Architects do square and hew, Green Trees that in the Forest grew.

Written by Andrew Marvell |

Eyes And Tears

 How wisely Nature did decree,
With the same Eyes to weep and see!
That, having view'd the object vain,
They might be ready to complain.
And since the Self-deluding Sight, In a false Angle takes each hight; These Tears which better measure all, Like wat'ry Lines and Plummets fall.
Two Tears, which Sorrow long did weigh Within the Scales of either Eye, And then paid out in equal Poise, Are the true price of all my Joyes.
What in the World most fair appears, Yea even Laughter, turns to Tears: And all the Jewels which we prize, Melt in these Pendants of the Eyes.
I have through every Garden been, Amongst the Red,the White, the Green; And yet, from all the flow'rs I saw, No Hony, but these Tears could draw.
So the all-seeing Sun each day Distills the World with Chymick Ray; But finds the Essence only Showers, Which straight in pity back he powers.
Yet happy they whom Grief doth bless, That weep the more, and see the less: And, to preserve their Sight more true, Bath still their Eyes in their own Dew.
So Magdalen, in Tears more wise Dissolv'd those captivating Eyes, Whose liquid Chains could flowing meet To fetter her Redeemers feet.
Not full sailes hasting loaden home, Nor the chast Ladies pregnant Womb, Nor Cynthia Teeming show's so fair, As two Eyes swoln with weeping are.
The sparkling Glance that shoots Desire, Drench'd in these Waves, does lose it fire.
Yea oft the Thund'rer pitty takes And here the hissing Lightning slakes.
The Incense was to Heaven dear, Not as a Perfume, but a Tear.
And Stars shew lovely in the Night, But as they seem the Tears of Light.
Ope then mine Eyes your double Sluice, And practise so your noblest Use.
For others too can see, or sleep; But only humane Eyes can weep.
Now like two Clouds dissolving, drop, And at each Tear in distance stop: Now like two Fountains trickle down: Now like two floods o'return and drown.
Thus let your Streams o'reflow your Springs, Till Eyes and Tears be the same things: And each the other's difference bears; These weeping Eyes, those seeing Tears.
Note: Magdala, lascivos sic quum dimisit Amantes, Fervidaque in castas lumina solvit aquas; Haesit in irriguo lachrymarum compede Christus, Et tenuit sacros uda Catena pedes.

Written by Andrew Marvell |

A Dialogue Between Thyrsis And Dorinda

When Death, shall snatch us from these Kids,
And shut up our divided Lids,
Tell me Thyrsis, prethee do,
Whither thou and I must go.
Thyrsis To the Elizium: (Dorinda) oh where i'st? Thyrsis A Chast Soul, can never mis't.
Dorinda I know no way, but one, our home Is our Elizium? Thyrsis Cast thine Eye to yonder Skie, There the milky way doth lye; 'Tis a sure but rugged way, That leads to Everlasting day.
Dorinda There Birds may nest, but how can I, That have no wings and cannot fly.
Thyrsis Do not sigh (fair Nimph) for fire Hath no wings, yet doth aspire Till it hit, against the pole, Heaven's the Center of the Soul.
Dorinda But in Elizium how do they Pass Eternity away.
Thyrsis Ho, ther's, neither hope nor fear Ther's no Wolf, no Fox, no Bear.
No need of Dog to fetch our stray, Our Lightfoot we may give away; And there most sweetly thine Ear May feast with Musick of the Sphear.
How I my future state By silent thinking, Antidate: I preethe let us spend, our time come, In talking of Elizium.
Thyrsis Then I'le go on: There, sheep are full Of softest grass, and softest wooll; There, birds sing Consorts, garlands grow, Cold winds do whisper,springs do flow.
There, alwayes is, a rising Sun, And day is ever, but begun.
Shepheards there, bear equal sway, And every Nimph's a Queen of May.
Dorinda Ah me, ah me.
Thyrsis Dorinda, why do'st Cry? Dorinda I'm sick, I'm sick, and fain would dye: Convinc't me now, that this is true, By bidding, with mee, all adieu I cannot live, without thee, I Will for thee,much more with thee dye.
Dorinda Then let us give Corellia charge o'th Sheep, And thou and I'le pick poppies and them steep In wine, and drink on't even till we weep, So shall we smoothly pass away in sleep.

Written by Andrew Marvell |

A Dialogue Between the Resolved Soul And Created Pleasure

 Courage my Soul, now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal Shield.
Close on thy Head thy Helmet bright.
Ballance thy Sword against the Fight.
See where an Army, strong as fair, With silken Banners spreads the air.
Now, if thou bee'st that thing Divine, In this day's Combat let it shine: And shew that Nature wants an Art To conquer one resolved Heart.
Pleasure Welcome the Creations Guest, Lord of Earth, and Heavens Heir.
Lay aside that Warlike Crest, And of Nature's banquet share: Where the Souls of fruits and flow'rs Stand prepar'd to heighten yours.
Soul I sup above, and cannot stay To bait so long upon the way.
Pleasure On these downy Pillows lye, Whose soft Plumes will thither fly: On these Roses strow'd so plain Lest one Leaf thy Side should strain.
Soul My gentler Rest is on a Thought, Conscious of doing what I ought.
Pleasure If thou bee'st with Perfumes pleas'd, Such as oft the Gods appeas'd, Thou in fragrant Clouds shalt show Like another God below.
Soul A Soul that knowes not to presume Is Heaven's and its own perfume.
Pleasure Every thing does seem to vie Which should first attract thine Eye: But since none deserves that grace, In this Crystal view thy face.
Soul When the Creator's skill is priz'd, The rest is all but Earth disguis'd.
Pleasure Heark how Musick then prepares For thy Stay these charming Aires ; Which the posting Winds recall, And suspend the Rivers Fall.
Soul Had I but any time to lose, On this I would it all dispose.
Cease Tempter.
None can chain a mind Whom this sweet Chordage cannot bind.
Chorus Earth cannot shew so brave a Sight As when a single Soul does fence The Batteries of alluring Sense, And Heaven views it with delight.
Then persevere: for still new Charges sound: And if thou overcom'st thou shalt be crown'd.
Pleasure All this fair, and cost, and sweet, Which scatteringly doth shine, Shall within one Beauty meet, And she be only thine.
Soul If things of Sight such Heavens be, What Heavens are those we cannot see? Pleasure Where so e're thy Foot shall go The minted Gold shall lie; Till thou purchase all below, And want new Worlds to buy.
Soul Wer't not a price who 'ld value Gold? And that's worth nought that can be sold.
Pleasure Wilt thou all the Glory have That War or Peace commend? Half the World shall be thy Slave The other half thy Friend.
Soul What Friends, if to my self untrue? What Slaves, unless I captive you? Pleasure Thou shalt know each hidden Cause; And see the future Time: Try what depth the Centre draws; And then to Heaven climb.
Soul None thither mounts by the degree Of Knowledge, but Humility.
Chorus Triumph, triumph, victorious Soul; The World has not one Pleasure more: The rest does lie beyond the pole, And is thine everlasting Store.

Written by Andrew Marvell |

The Unfortunate Lover

 Alas, how pleasant are their dayes
With whom the Infant Love yet playes!
Sorted by pairs, they still are seen
By Fountains cool, and Shadows green.
But soon these Flames do lose their light, Like Meteors of a Summers night: Nor can they to that Region climb, To make impression upon Time.
'Twas in a Shipwrack, when the Seas Rul'd, and the Winds did what they please, That my poor Lover floting lay, And, e're brought forth, was cast away: Till at the last the master-Wave.
Upon the Rock his Mother drave; And there she split against the Stone, In a Cesarian Section.
The Sea him lent these bitter Tears Which at his Eyes he alwaies bears.
And from the Winds the Sighs he bore, Which through his surging Breast do roar.
No Day he saw but that which breaks, Through frighted Clouds in forked streaks.
While round the ratling Thunder hurl'd, As at the Fun'ral of the World.
While Nature to his Birth presents This masque of quarrelling Elements; A num'rous fleet of Corm'rants black, That sail'd insulting o're the Wrack, Receiv'd into their cruel Care, Th' unfortunate and abject Heir: Guardians most fit to entertain The Orphan of the Hurricane.
They fed him up with Hopes and Air, Which soon digested to Despair.
And as one Corm'rant fed him, still Another on his Heart did bill.
Thus while they famish him, and feast, He both consumed, and increast: And languished with doubtful Breath, Th' Amphibium of Life and Death.
And now, when angry Heaven wou'd Behold a spectacle of Blood, Fortune and He are call'd to play At sharp before it all the day: And Tyrant Love his brest does ply With all his wing'd Artillery.
Whilst he, betwixt the Flames and Waves, Like Ajax, the mad Tempest braves.
See how he nak'd and fierce does stand, Cuffing the Thunder with one hand; While with the other he does lock, And grapple, with the stubborn Rock: From which he with each Wave rebounds, Torn into Flames, and ragg'd with Wounds.
And all he saies, a Lover drest In his own Blood does relish best.
This is the only Banneret That ever Love created yet: Who though, by the Malignant Starrs, Forced to live in Storms and Warrs; Yet dying leaves a Perfume here, And Musick within every Ear: And he in Story only rules, In a Field Sable a Lover Gules.

Written by Andrew Marvell |

On A Drop Of Dew

 See how the Orient Dew,
Shed from the Bosom of the Morn
Into the blowing Roses,
Yet careless of its Mansion new;
For the clear Region where 'twas born
Round in its self incloses:
And in its little Globes Extent,
Frames as it can its native Element.
How it the purple flow'r does slight, Scarce touching where it lyes, But gazing back upon the Skies, Shines with a mournful Light; Like its own Tear, Because so long divided from the Sphear.
Restless it roules and unsecure, Trembling lest it grow impure: Till the warm Sun pitty it's Pain, And to the Skies exhale it back again.
So the Soul, that Drop, that Ray Of the clear Fountain of Eternal Day, Could it within the humane flow'r be seen, Remembring still its former height, Shuns the sweat leaves and blossoms green; And, recollecting its own Light, Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express The greater Heaven in an Heaven less.
In how coy a Figure wound, Every way it turns away: So the World excluding round, Yet receiving in the Day.
Dark beneath, but bright above: Here disdaining, there in Love.
How loose and easie hence to go: How girt and ready to ascend.
Moving but on a point below, It all about does upwards bend.
Such did the Manna's sacred Dew destil; White, and intire, though congeal'd and chill.
Congeal'd on Earth: but does, dissolving, run Into the Glories of th' Almighty Sun.

Written by Andrew Marvell |

Young Love

 Come little Infant, Love me now,
While thine unsuspected years
Clear thine aged Fathers brow
From cold Jealousie and Fears.
Pretty surely 'twere to see By young Love old Time beguil'd: While our Sportings are as free As the Nurses with the Child.
Common Beauties stay fifteen; Such as yours should swifter move; Whole fair Blossoms are too green Yet for lust, but not for Love.
Love as much the snowy Lamb Or the wanton Kid does prize, As the lusty Bull or Ram, For his morning Sacrifice.
Now then love me: time may take Thee before thy time away: Of this Need wee'l Virtue make, And learn Love before we may.
So we win of doubtful Fate; And, if good she to us meant, We that Good shall antedate, Or, if ill, that Ill prevent.
Thus as Kingdomes, frustrating Other Titles to their Crown, In the craddle crown their King, So all Forraign Claims to drown.
So, to make all Rivals vain, Now I crown thee with my Love: Crown me with thy Love again, And we both shall Monarchs prove.

Written by Andrew Marvell |

The Definition Of Love

 My love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis for object strange and high:
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.
Magnanimous Despair alone Could show me so divine a thing, Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown But vainly flapped its tinsel wing.
And yet I quickly might arrive Where my extended soul is fixed But Fate does iron wedges drive, And always crowds itself betwixt.
For Fate with jealous eye does see Two perfect loves, nor lets them close: Their union would her ruin be, And her tyrranic power depose.
And therefore her decrees of steel Us as the distant Poles have placed (Though Love's whole world on us doth wheel) Not by themselves to be embraced, Unless the giddy heaven fall, And earth some new convulsion tear; And, us to join, the world should all Be cramped into a planisphere.
As lines (so loves) oblique may well Themselves in every angle greet: But ours so truly parallel, Though infinite, can never meet.
Therefore the love which us doth bind, But Fate so enviously debars, Is the conjunction of the mind, And opposition of the stars.

Written by Andrew Marvell |

The Match

 Nature had long a Treasure made
Of all her choisest store;
Fearing, when She should be decay'd,
To beg in vain for more.
Her Orientest Colours there, And Essences most pure, With sweetest Perfumes hoarded were, All as she thought secure.
She seldom them unlock'd, or us'd, But with the nicest care; For, with one grain of them diffus'd, She could the World repair.
But likeness soon together drew What she did separate lay; Of which one perfect Beauty grew, And that was Celia.
Love wisely had of long fore-seen That he must once grow old; And therefore stor'd a Magazine, To save him from the cold.
He kept the several Cells repleat With Nitre thrice refin'd; The Naphta's and the Sulphurs heat, And all that burns the Mind.
He fortifi'd the double Gate, And rarely thither came, For, with one Spark of these, he streight All Nature could inflame.
Till, by vicinity so long, A nearer Way they sought; And, grown magnetically strong, Into each other wrought.
Thus all his fewel did unite To make one fire high: None ever burn'd so hot, so bright: And Celia that am I.
So we alone the happy rest, Whilst all the World is poor, And have within our Selves possest All Love's and Nature's store.

Written by Andrew Marvell |

The Coronet

 When for the Thorns with which I long, too long,
With many a piercing wound,
My Saviours head have crown'd,
I seek with Garlands to redress that Wrong:
Through every Garden, every Mead,
I gather flow'rs (my fruits are only flow'rs)
Dismantling all the fragrant Towers
That once adorn'd my Shepherdesses head.
And now when I have summ'd up all my store, Thinking (so I my self deceive) So rich a Chaplet thence to weave As never yet the king of Glory wore: Alas I find the Serpent old That, twining in his speckled breast, About the flow'rs disguis'd does fold, With wreaths of Fame and Interest.
Ah, foolish Man, that would'st debase with them, And mortal Glory, Heavens Diadem! But thou who only could'st the Serpent tame, Either his slipp'ry knots at once untie, And disintangle all his winding Snare: Or shatter too with him my curious frame: And let these wither, so that he may die, Though set with Skill and chosen out with Care.
That they, while Thou on both their Spoils dost tread, May crown thy Feet, that could not crown thy Head.

Written by Andrew Marvell |


 Cernis ut Eio descendat Gemmula Roris,
Inque Rosas roseo transfluat orta sinu.
Sollicita Flores stant ambitione supini, Et certant foliis pellicuisse suis.
Illa tamen patriae lustrans fastigia Sphaerae, Negligit hospitii limina picta novi.
Inque sui nitido conclusa voluminis orbe, Exprimit aetherei qua licet Orbis aquas.
En ut odoratum spernat generosior Ostrum, Vixque premat casto mollia strata pede.
Suspicit at longis distantem obtutibus Axem, Inde & languenti lumine pendet amans, Tristis, & in liquidum mutata dolore dolorem, Marcet, uti roseis Lachryma fusa Genis.
Ut pavet, & motum tremit irrequieta Cubile, Et quoties Zephyro fluctuat Aura, fugit .
Qualis inexpertam subeat formido Puellam, Sicubi nocte redit incomitata domum.
Sic & in horridulas agitatur Gutta procellas, Dum prae virgineo cuncta pudore timet.
Donec oberrantem Radio clemente vaporet, Inq; jubar reducem Sol genitale trahat.
Talis, in humano si possit flore videri, Exul ubi longas Mens agit usq; moras; Haec quoque natalis meditans convivia Coeli, Evertit Calices, purpureosque Thoros.
Fontis stilla sacri, Lucis scintilla perennis, Non capitur Tyria veste, vapore Sabae.
Tota sed in proprii secedens luminis Arcem, Colligit in Gyros se sinuosa breves.
Magnorumque sequens animo convexa Deorum, Sydereum parvo fingit in Orbe Globum.
Quam bene in aversae modulum contracta figurae Oppositum Mundo claudit ubiq; latus.
Sed bibit in speculum radios ornata rotundum; Et circumfuso splendet aperta Die.
Qua Superos spectat rutilans, obscurior infra; Caetera dedignans, ardet amore Poli.
Subsilit, hinc agili Poscens discedere motu, Undique coelesti cincta soluta Viae.
Totaque in aereos extenditur orbita cursus; Hinc punctim carpens, mobile stringit iter.
Haud aliter Mensis exundans Manna beatis Deserto jacuit Stilla gelata Solo: Stilla gelata Solo, sed Solibus hausta benignis, Ad sua qua cecidit purior Aftra redit.

Written by Andrew Marvell |


 Quisnam adeo, mortale genus, praecordia versat:
Heu Palmae, Laurique furor, vel simplicis Herbae!
Arbor ut indomitos ornet vix una labores;
Tempora nec foliis praecingat tota maglignis.
Dum simud implexi, tranquillae ad ferta Quiaetis, Omnigeni coeunt Flores, integraque Sylva.
Alma Quies, teneo te! & te Germana Quietis Simplicitas! Vos ergo diu per Templa, per urbes, Quaesivi, Regum perque alta Palatia frustra.
Sed vos Hotrorum per opaca siluentia longe Celarant Plantae virides, & concolor Umbra.
O! mibi si vestros liceat violasse recessus.
Erranti, lasso, & vitae melioris anhelo, Municipem servate novum, votoque potitum, Frondosae Cives optate in florea Regna.
Me quoque, vos Musae, &, te conscie testor Apollo, Non Armenta juvant hominum, Circique boatus, Mugitusve Fori; sed me Penetralia veris, Horroresque trahunt muti, & Consortia sola.
Virgineae quem non suspendit Gratia formae? Quam candore Nives vincentum, Ostrumque rubore, Vestra tamen viridis superet (me judice) Virtus.
Nec foliis certare Comae, nec Brachia ramis, Nec possint tremulos voces aequare susurros.
Ah quoties saevos vidi (quis credat?) Amantes Sculpentes Dominae potiori in cortice nomen? Nec puduit truncis inscribere vulnera sacris.
Ast Ego, si vestras unquam temeravero stirpes, Nulla Neaera, Chloe, Faustina, Corynna, legetur: In proprio sed quaeque libro signabitur Arbos.
O charae Platanus, Cyparissus, Populus, Ulnus! Hic Amor, exutis crepidatus inambulat alis, Enerves arcus & stridula tela reponens, Invertitque faces, nec se cupit usque timeri; Aut experrectus jacet, indormitque pharetrae; Non auditurus quanquam Cytherea vocarit; Nequitias referuut nec somnia vana priores.
Laetantur Superi, defervescente Tyranno, Et licet experti toties Nymphasque Deasque, Arbore nunc melius potiuntur quisque cupita.
Jupiter annosam, neglecta conjuge, Quercum Deperit; baud alia doluit sic pellice.
Lemniacum temerant vestigia nulla Cubile, Nic Veneris Mavors meminit si Fraxinus adsit.
Formosae pressit Daphnes vestigia Phaebus Ut fieret Laurus; sed nil quaesiverat ultra.
Capripes & peteret quod Pan Syringa fugacem, Hoc erat ut Calamum posset reperire Sonorum.
Note: Desunt multa.
Nec tu, Opisex horti, grato sine carmine abibis: Qui brevibus plantis, & laeto flore, notasti Crescentes horas, atque intervalla diei.
Sol ibi candidior fragrantia Signa pererrat; Proque truci Tauro, stricto pro forcipe Cancri, Securis violaeque rosaeque allabitur umbris.
Sedula quin & Apis, mellito intenta labori, Horologo sua pensa thymo Signare videtur.
Temporis O suaves lapsus! O Otia sana! O Herbis dignae numerari & Floribus Horae!