The Ladies Delight | Page 2

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 hoary 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 pass,
They graft it on an Open-arse;)
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 assist his Brother)
That is, to take especial Care
Not
to set Vulvaria 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.
But Misan's taken this just napping,
And against all Things that can happen
Both to
the Shrub and Tree, has told some
How to make the deadliest Wholesome;
These
venomous Vulvaria grow
At Vaux-Hall_ and _St. James's too;
Nay, and about the
Tree so leap,
That very few good Plants can 'scape.
The Names and Virtues
Old Mother D'Acier, in her Notes
On Homer_, some hard _Greek Word quotes,
Calls
it Nep, nep,--I know not what,
And says it is the very Plant that
The tawny Queen to
Helen sent,
To cure her Griefs at all Event.
Great Milton's Murd'rer says it is
The fam'd Machaera Herculis,
And proves from
some old Grecian Poet,
So plain that all Men sure must know it,
That of this Tree the
Club was made,
With which he overcame ('tis said)
Thespius' Daughters, all grown
wild,
And fifty Mad-Women_ made _mild;
Which very Club--(it makes one Laugh)

Omphale turn'd into a Distaff.
Nay, the Hesperian Tree was this,
As shew the Poma
Veneris;
These Apples doubtless were the Fruit
That 'twixt the Queens rais'd such
Dispute,
To make 'em all stark-naked stand,
While Paris held it in his Hand,
And
chuck'd_ it into _Venus' Mouth,
'Cause she with Beauty fir'd the Youth.
The Virtues are of such great Note,
That twenty Volumes might be wrote;
The Juice
alone Green-Sickness cures,
And purges thro' all corporal Pores;
If any Maid be sick,
or faint
Of Love, or Father's close Constraint,
One Spoonfull of this Cordial Balm

Soon stops each Grief, and every Qualm;

'Tis true, they sometimes Tumours cause,

And in the Belly make strange Flaws,
But a few Moons will make 'em sound,
And
safely fetch the Swelling down.
Not Saffron chears the Heart like this,
Nor can Champaign give such a Bliss:
When
Wife and Husband do fall out,
And both remain in sullen pout,
This brings them to

themselves again,
And fast unites the broken Chain;
Makes Feuds and Discords
straightway cease
And gives at least a Night of Peace.
This Rarity may now be seen
In Lambeth, at a Garden Green,
Bowen his Name, who
in high Tone,
Calls it the Tree of Silver Spoon,
Which all the Maids of curious Eyes

May there behold of largest Size.
THE Natural HISTORY OF THE TREE of LIFE.
The_ DESCRIPTION _and PLACE.
The Tree of Life_ is a _succulent Plant, consisting of one only strait stem, on the top of
which is a Pistillum_ or _Apex, at some times Glandiform_ and resembling a
_May-Cherry, tho' at others, more like the Nut_ of the _Avellana_ or _Filbeard-Tree.
Its fruits, contrary to most others, grow near the Root; they are usually no more than two
in number, their bigness somewhat exceeding