A Pastoral Ode to an Honourable Friend

As to the blooming prime.
Bleak winter being fled.
From compass of the clime.
Where Nature lay as dead.
The rivers dull'd with time,
The green leaves wither'd,
Fresh Zephyri, the western brethren, be:
So th' honour of your favour is to me.

For as the plains revive.
And put on youthful green;
As plants begin to thrive,
That disattired had been;
And arbours now alive, ,
In former pomp are seen:
So if my Spring had any flowers before.
Your breath, Favonius, hath increased the store.