To morrow ere fresh Morning streak the East

With first approach of light, we must be risn,

And at our pleasant labour, to reform [ 625 ]

Yon flourie Arbors, yonder Allies green,

Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown,

That mock our scant manuring, and require

More hands then ours to lop thir wanton growth:

Those Blossoms also, and those dropping Gumms, [ 630 ]

That lie bestrowne unsightly and unsmooth,

Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease;

Mean while, as Nature wills, Night bids us rest.

To whom thus Eve with perfet beauty adornd.

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