I.
Sweet serene skye-like Flower,
Haste to adorn her Bower : From thy long clowdy bed, Shoot forth thy damaske head.
II.
New-startled blush of Flora !
The griefe of pale Aurora, Who will contest no more ; Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.
II.
Vermilion Ball that's
From lip to lip in Heaven ; Love's Couches cover-led : Haste, haste, to make her bed.
IV.
Dear Offspring of pleas'd Venus,
And Jollie, plumpe Silenus ; Haste, haste, to decke the Haire Of th' only, sweetly Faire.
V.
See !
Rosie is her Bower,
Her floore is all this Flower ; Her Bed a Rosie nest By a Bed of Roses prest.
VI.
But early as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright Tresses ? Ah !
I have found I feare ; Because her Cheekes are neere.
