Part 1 (1/2)
The Ladies Delight.
by Anonymous.
AN ADDRESS TO ALL _Well provided_ HIBERNIANS.
_Gentlemen_,
As Nature hath been so _very Indulgent_ to ye, as to stock your Gardens with _Trees_ of the _largest Growth_, for which Reason ye are caress'd, whilst Men of _less Parts_, tho' in _some Things_ more deserving, are laugh'd at, and excluded all Company.
As all Infants, especially of the Female s.e.x, are much delighted with Fruit, so as their Years and other Appet.i.tes increase, no Wonder if that increases too. Both Men and Beasts have _some-thing_ or another, for which they are esteem'd; so ye being in a particular manner Happy in this _Talent_, may securely laugh, while ye daily _grow_ in the Ladies Favour, and spread your _Branches_ over all the Kingdom: Many a hopeful _Stick of Wood_ has been produc'd by this glorious Tree, who after they had _p.i.s.s'd_ their Estates against the Wall (as the good Housewives term it) have by the Strength of true _Hibernian_ Prowess rais'd themselves to the Favour of some fair Virtuoso, and being by her _plac'd in a HOT-BED_, have been restor'd to their pristine Strength, and flourish'd again; and like true Heroes, not envying the busy World, have been content to _spend_ the remainder of their Days in an obscure Nook of the World.
Thus, Gentlemen, and as all Poets chuse the most Worthy to patronize their Works, I humbly offer ye the following Poem, and that you may still continue as ye now are; that your Trees may ever flourish, your _Green-houses_ be secure, nor your _young Plants_ be ever nipt in the _Bud_, and that you may ever _stand_ against all _Cracks_, Storms, Tempests, and _Eruptions_,
_Is the hearty Wishes of Your's_,
BOTANICUS.
THE Natural HISTORY OF THE TREE of LIFE.
The Tree of which I fain would sing, If the kind Muse her Aid would bring, Is _Arbor Vitae_; but in brief, By vulgar Men call'd--_Tree of Life_.
First for Description then, 'tis such As needs must captivate you much.
In Stem most streight, of lovely Size, With Head elate this Plant doth rise; First bare--when it doth further shoot, _A Tuft of Moss_ keeps warm the Root: No _Lapland_ m.u.f.f has such a Fur, No Skin so soft has any Cur; This touch'd, alone the Heart can move, Which Ladies more than Lap-dogs love; From this erect springs up the Stalk, No Power can stop, or ought can baulk; On Top an _Apex_ crowns the Tree, As all Mankind may plainly see; So s.h.i.+nes a Filbeard, when the Sh.e.l.l, Half gone, displays the _ruby Peel_ Or like a Cherry bright and gay, Just red'ning in the Month of _May_.
As other Trees bear Fruit at Top, And they who rob 'em must _climb up_; This still more rare doth upward shoot, But at the Bottom bears its Fruit, And they who'd reap its Virtues strong, Need but to lay 'em _all along_, _Ope' wide, their Mouths_, and they'll receive The _Fruit of Life_, and eat, and live: Not the fair Tree that _India_ bears, All over Spice both Head and Ears, Can boast more Gifts than the Great Pow'rs Have granted to this Tree of ours: That in good Ale its Power boasts, And ours has _Nutmeg's_ fit for _Toasts_ And Bags by _Nature_ planted grow, To keep 'em from all Winds that blow.
The Rise is slow, and by Degrees, Both Fruits and Tree itself increase So slow, that ten Years scarce produce _Six Inches_ good and fit for Use; But fifteen ripen well the Fruit, And add a _viscous Balm_ into't; Then rub'd, drops Tears as if 'twas greiv'd, Which by a neighbouring Shrub's receiv'd; As Men set Tubs to catch the Rain, So does this Shrub _its Juice_ retain, Which 'cause it wears a colour'd Robe, Is justly call'd the _flow'ring Shrub_.
In every Nation springs this Tree, In some confin'd; in others more free; In _England_, 'tis of mod'rate Size, And oft' does _nine full inches_ rise: But _Ireland_, tho' in Soil most poor, Exceeds all Lands in this fame Store; And sent o'er hither, it is such As does exceed our own by much, And gets the Owner many a _Farthing_, For _Ladies_ love it in their _Garden_.
That it's a _Tree_ right _sensitive_, Denies no honest Man alive: Tho' as one _shrinks_ and will not stand, This _rises_ at a _Lady's_ Hand, And grows more strong the more 'tis strok'd, As others _fall_ when they are _pok'd_.
When nipping Cold bites off our Nose, And h.o.a.ry Frosts the Morn disclose, In _Hot-beds_ only then 'twill live, And only when-well warm'd will thrive; But when warm Summer does appear, 'Twill _stand_ all _brunts_ in open Air; Tho' oft they're overcome with Heat, And sink with Nurture too replete; Then _Birchen Twigs_, if right apply'd To Back, Fore-part, or either Side---- Support a while, _and keep it up_, Tho' soon again the Plant will droop.
_Motteux_ had one very untow'rd, And thought to mend it with a Cord, But _kill'd the Tree_, yet gain'd his _End_, Which makes th' Experiment condemn'd.
Others have thought to mend the Root, By taking from the Tree its Fruit; But in the _Nutmegs_ lies the Breed, And when they're gone we lose the _Seed_; Tho' Virtuosi still have don't, And always found it yield Accompt; For _Hey----gg----r_ then buys the _Wood_, And of it makes us Whistles good, Which yearly from _Italia_ sent, Here answers his and our Intent.
Others too curious will _innoc_ _Ulate_ their Plants on _Medlars_ Stock, (_i.e._ as Tongues in Vulgar pa.s.s, They graft it on an _Open-a.r.s.e_;) But Gardeners, Virtuosi, all, Say this is most _unnatural_.
That Soil is certainly the best, Whence first it sprang, and first increast, In Vallies hollow, soft, and warm, With Hills to ward off every Storm, Where Water salt runs trickling down, And _Tendrils_ lie o'er all the Ground, Such as the Tree itself shoots forth, And better if't be tow'rds the _North_; When such a Piece of Ground you see, If in the midst a Pit there be, There plant it deep unto the _Root_, And never fear----you'll soon have _Fruit_.
Tho' let young _Botanists_ beware Of Insects that oft' harbour there, Which 'mongst the tender _Fibres_ breed, And if not kill'd, eat up the _Seed_: Good _Humphrey Bowen_ gives another, (As each Man should a.s.sist his Brother) That is, to take especial Care Not to set _v.u.l.v.aria_ near; Of them two Sorts are frequent found, One helps, and to'ther spoils the Ground; And many a Plant thriving and tall, Destroy'd by them, has got a Fall.