Aenigma
A Crabbed S TUMPE ; yet Sillie Husbands Care
(Too much Indulgent, to the great impaire
Of his more profitable Howers) did dresse
And manure it; more valewing encrease
From this unhopefull Impe, then all the Store
Hee had beside; and he had many more;
And what his Art, or Industrie, could bring
To make it fresh, he did, in everie Thing.
Still was it Serr; noe Leafe would ever peepe
Or Blossome Spread; but Nature as asleepe
Continued in the Trunke. The Husband (wed
To his first undertakings) Cherished
The hopeles Stocke, with more then common Care;
And to a better Soyle, and better Ayre
Transplanted it; yet could he gather small
Or little Hopes, that it should beare at All;
Only a liveing Sap, it did retaine,
Without all verdure. Thus it did remaine
Thrice Seaven Summers; without any Show
To repay his great Care; at last one Bough
Without or Leafe, or Blossome did produce
A Fruite of bitter, and unsavorie Juice.
Some who did tast it, wormewood would compare
Unto its relish; and some others Sweare
Henbane had lesse of venome; for in Strange
Tumors it blisterd; and the blood did range
With an unwonted Heate, and violence
Through the infected Bodies; such offence
Came in its first production; still the fond
Artificer, would hope Something beyond;
Though the Cheife Gard'ner, would have had it cast
Into the Fire, or throwne out with the wast.
Hee with a Cultivating Hand, doth give
It all the Rites; for which perhaps, in five,
Sixe, or Seaven yeare (though Leafe, nor other green
It ever had the least) there has bene Seene
Some fruite; which I in Curiositie
Once tasted. Tis a harsh one, and a Drie;
Worse then a Medler; but more Calme, more Safe
Unto the Palat, then the first by th' halfe.
Loe here, the Issue of his hopes, and now
Againe it is declin'd; for such as know
Fruit by appearance, thinke the last years fruite
Deadlie Aconite; and in the root
Some say a Canker lyes; to gnaw and wast
The tree, unverdant from the first, to the last;
Nor is it Strange (and take the Sence togither)
The Thing, which never flourished, should Wither.
(Too much Indulgent, to the great impaire
Of his more profitable Howers) did dresse
And manure it; more valewing encrease
From this unhopefull Impe, then all the Store
Hee had beside; and he had many more;
And what his Art, or Industrie, could bring
To make it fresh, he did, in everie Thing.
Still was it Serr; noe Leafe would ever peepe
Or Blossome Spread; but Nature as asleepe
Continued in the Trunke. The Husband (wed
To his first undertakings) Cherished
The hopeles Stocke, with more then common Care;
And to a better Soyle, and better Ayre
Transplanted it; yet could he gather small
Or little Hopes, that it should beare at All;
Only a liveing Sap, it did retaine,
Without all verdure. Thus it did remaine
Thrice Seaven Summers; without any Show
To repay his great Care; at last one Bough
Without or Leafe, or Blossome did produce
A Fruite of bitter, and unsavorie Juice.
Some who did tast it, wormewood would compare
Unto its relish; and some others Sweare
Henbane had lesse of venome; for in Strange
Tumors it blisterd; and the blood did range
With an unwonted Heate, and violence
Through the infected Bodies; such offence
Came in its first production; still the fond
Artificer, would hope Something beyond;
Though the Cheife Gard'ner, would have had it cast
Into the Fire, or throwne out with the wast.
Hee with a Cultivating Hand, doth give
It all the Rites; for which perhaps, in five,
Sixe, or Seaven yeare (though Leafe, nor other green
It ever had the least) there has bene Seene
Some fruite; which I in Curiositie
Once tasted. Tis a harsh one, and a Drie;
Worse then a Medler; but more Calme, more Safe
Unto the Palat, then the first by th' halfe.
Loe here, the Issue of his hopes, and now
Againe it is declin'd; for such as know
Fruit by appearance, thinke the last years fruite
Deadlie Aconite; and in the root
Some say a Canker lyes; to gnaw and wast
The tree, unverdant from the first, to the last;
Nor is it Strange (and take the Sence togither)
The Thing, which never flourished, should Wither.
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