 | Miscellany Poems |  |
On a Mandrake.
I
The Play of Nature under ground,The Draught, that from her Hands doth fall
In Regions, where no Light is found,
But Sullen Darkness Covers all:
Like Man; as like, as Draughts could be;
Where Nature had no Eyes to see.
II
Each Limb and Part exactly drawn,Doth much our Admiration raise;
Nature her Mimick Art hath shown,
And wantonly with Mankind plays:
85
The very Sex She don't omit.
III
In this the Picture doth excell,And doth above the Substance rise:
The Mandrake doth in Regions dwell,
Unseen, unknown to Mortal Eyes;
And, where our final Rest we have;
Doth Live and Flourish, in the Grave.
| Miscellany Poems | |