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Dull as I
was, to think that a court fly
Presum'd so neer her
eye;
When 'twas th' industrious bee
Mistook her
glorious face for paradise,
To summe up all his
chymistry of spice;
With a brave pride and honour
led,
Neer both her suns he makes his bed,
And,
though a spark, struggles to rise as red.
Then
aemulates the gay
Daughter of day;
Acts the
romantick phoenix' fate,
When now, with all his
sweets lay'd out in state,
LUCASTA scatters but one
heat,
And all the aromatick pills do sweat,
And
gums calcin'd themselves to powder beat,
Which a
fresh gale of air
Conveys into her hair;
Then
chaft, he's set on fire,
And in these holy flames
doth glad expire;
And that black marble tablet there
So neer her either sphere
Was plac'd; nor foyl, nor
ornament,
But the sweet little bee's large monument.
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