Who Nature busie in her Shop have seen,
And with the Mistress too, her Hand-maid, Art ;
At work on what her Mistress did begin ,
And filling up , and finishing each part.
Have in their curious Search, yet nothing found,
For Workmanship , or Beauty , to compare
With what blind Fortune fashions under ground;
Nothing in Art so gay , or Nature fair .
The Tulip-buds rais'd by her gentle hand,
Prove Chance not blind , but we that call her so;
Who, neither how she forms them understand,
Nor how the Blind can Skill in Colours show.
If Nature to these Flowers lays a Claim,
Why do they not her steady Lawes obey?
Like Fortune's Subjects , they are ne're the Same ,
And Chance , their Queen , less fickle is than they.
Roses , in their first Crimson dress appear,
Lillies , their antient Braveries display,
And Violets the same blue Mantles wear,
They wore, on their Creation 's great Show-Day .
But Tulips each new Year , their Robes have new ,
Fertile in Colours , with the fertile Spring ;
All Shades pursuing still, save only Blue ,
The Season's Changes , markt in theirs they bring.
These , that like freckled Beauties now appear,
Their freckles gone, boast clearer white and red ;
Their Colours changing with the changing Year ,
They, with new Smiles and Blushes dye their Bed .
Those which sprung from their Mothers painted Womb ,
In naked Yellow , shew a tawny Skin ;
In new Successions fairer yet will come,
And white , as in their naked Smocks be seen.
The Widow , in her Royal Purple vail'd,
That hangs her head , till her short Mourning 's done;
When she her time of Widow-hood has wail'd,
Light Colours , and strip'd Indian Silks puts on.
Their sev'ral Streaks and Stains who thus would trace,
As vain a Project, and succesless tries;
As he, who Proteus paints with one fixt face ,
Or limns the necks of Doves , with all their dies .
The chang'd leaves of each new Flow'r , change anew,
Nay, each Stripe , disagreeing dies does bear,
As on each leaf, new Tulips grafted grew,
And each apart, a Crop of Glory were.
Their Folds , all unlike their pied Neighbours blown,
Various, as Folds of Taffaties appear;
All paintings of the Garden show in one,
And all the diff'ring Motlies of the Year .
The particolour'd Buds thus num'rous bred,
The Children are of married Light and Shade ;
From their Coition form'd ith' Tulip-Bed ,
Brought forth, by Fortune 's Midwif'ry and aid.
These more compounded, Fortune 's Stroakings make,
Those mingled less, Marks of their Parents bear;
The Purple , their black Mothers Features take,
And their white Fathers lineaments, the Fair .
Could living fair ones, living Tulips so,
As they resemblances in Beauty hold,
Like resemblances in their Changes show;
Changing more lovely still, as they grow old.
Could Lover's Beauties , like the Florist's , bloom,
And ever blow afresh, they would not grieve,
That those impairing Years which are to come,
Take from their Loves , what they to Flowers give.
And with the Mistress too, her Hand-maid, Art ;
At work on what her Mistress did begin ,
And filling up , and finishing each part.
Have in their curious Search, yet nothing found,
For Workmanship , or Beauty , to compare
With what blind Fortune fashions under ground;
Nothing in Art so gay , or Nature fair .
The Tulip-buds rais'd by her gentle hand,
Prove Chance not blind , but we that call her so;
Who, neither how she forms them understand,
Nor how the Blind can Skill in Colours show.
If Nature to these Flowers lays a Claim,
Why do they not her steady Lawes obey?
Like Fortune's Subjects , they are ne're the Same ,
And Chance , their Queen , less fickle is than they.
Roses , in their first Crimson dress appear,
Lillies , their antient Braveries display,
And Violets the same blue Mantles wear,
They wore, on their Creation 's great Show-Day .
But Tulips each new Year , their Robes have new ,
Fertile in Colours , with the fertile Spring ;
All Shades pursuing still, save only Blue ,
The Season's Changes , markt in theirs they bring.
These , that like freckled Beauties now appear,
Their freckles gone, boast clearer white and red ;
Their Colours changing with the changing Year ,
They, with new Smiles and Blushes dye their Bed .
Those which sprung from their Mothers painted Womb ,
In naked Yellow , shew a tawny Skin ;
In new Successions fairer yet will come,
And white , as in their naked Smocks be seen.
The Widow , in her Royal Purple vail'd,
That hangs her head , till her short Mourning 's done;
When she her time of Widow-hood has wail'd,
Light Colours , and strip'd Indian Silks puts on.
Their sev'ral Streaks and Stains who thus would trace,
As vain a Project, and succesless tries;
As he, who Proteus paints with one fixt face ,
Or limns the necks of Doves , with all their dies .
The chang'd leaves of each new Flow'r , change anew,
Nay, each Stripe , disagreeing dies does bear,
As on each leaf, new Tulips grafted grew,
And each apart, a Crop of Glory were.
Their Folds , all unlike their pied Neighbours blown,
Various, as Folds of Taffaties appear;
All paintings of the Garden show in one,
And all the diff'ring Motlies of the Year .
The particolour'd Buds thus num'rous bred,
The Children are of married Light and Shade ;
From their Coition form'd ith' Tulip-Bed ,
Brought forth, by Fortune 's Midwif'ry and aid.
These more compounded, Fortune 's Stroakings make,
Those mingled less, Marks of their Parents bear;
The Purple , their black Mothers Features take,
And their white Fathers lineaments, the Fair .
Could living fair ones, living Tulips so,
As they resemblances in Beauty hold,
Like resemblances in their Changes show;
Changing more lovely still, as they grow old.
Could Lover's Beauties , like the Florist's , bloom,
And ever blow afresh, they would not grieve,
That those impairing Years which are to come,
Take from their Loves , what they to Flowers give.