To a Lady in a Garden.

SEes not my Love, how Time resumes
The Glory which he lent these Flow'rs?
Though none should taste of their perfumes,
Yet must they live but some few hours;
Time, what we forbear, devours.

Had Hellen or th'Egyptian Queen,
Been nere so thrifty of their Graces;
Those Beauties must at length have been
The spoil of Age, which finds out faces
In the most retired places.

Should some malignant Planet bring
A barren drought, or ceaseless Show'r
Upon the Autumn, or the Spring,
And spare us neither Fruit nor Flow'r;
Winter would not stay an hour.

Could the resolve of Loves neglect
Preserve you from the violation
Of coming years, then more respect
Were due to so Divine a fashion;
Nor would I indulge my passion.