Anglia Hortus

The guarden of the world wherin the Rose
In Chief Comman-ded did this doubt propose
To be resolvd in, whither Sence to prize
For Umpire to create it Paradice
One lead by th'Ear of Philomell tells tales
And strait wayes calls't the Land of Nightingales
An other sharper sighted, ravisht cries
O that I could be turnd now all to eyes
A third receivd such raptures from the tast
Of various, dainty, frutes that it surpast
A fourth was caught not with perfume Commends
The Indian Clime but what (heet) nature lends
Last if you would Sattins or Velvets touch
For Soft and Smooth leavs can afford you such
And thus disposd whilst evry Sence admires
Tis Senceless t'plant mongst Roses Thistles, Briers.