On Flowers in Amasia's Bosom. In Imitation of Anacreon

What? tell me, what, should Flow'rs do there,
Amasia's sweet, as she is fair.
In her, all blooming Beauties meet;
What Flow'r so fair, as she is sweet?
Not Flora's self, shall proudly dare
With my Amasia to compare.
Flora's Breast, I know it well,
Does not like her Bosom smell.
This, Flora too, her self, does know,
For else, she would not Court her so.
Not Eastern Spices, Indian Gums,
Afford us half so rich Perfumes.
Not the Phoenix boasted Nest
Can Rival my Amasia's Breast.
Arabia can't with her's compare,
For Love's the Phoenix, that dwells there.
There, tender sighs and wishes move,
The Rich, the Od'rous Breath of Love.
Why should those Flow'rs, Amasia, stay?
Pluck them, throw them far, away.
Why should they in thy Bosom live?
They come to Rob thee, not to give.
They could, when growing in the Field,
They could — but common Odours yield.
Throw them, Amasia, throw them by,
Then Mark, how quickly they shall die.
You will not thence the Robbers throw;
Sure they are rooted there, and grow.
O happy they, in such a Bed!
Where nothing withers, nor is dead.
Tho' every other Flow'r you spare,
Let no Narcissus Flourish there.
Whilst thus my Rivals blest I see,
I find, thy Bosom can be free,
To any thing, but Love and me.