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 Soft than the finest Lemster ore, Mildly disparkling like those fires Which break from the enjewell'd tyres Of curious brides; or like those mites Of candi'd dew in moony nights. Upon this convex all the flowers Nature begets by th' sun and showers, Are to a wild digestion brought, As if love's sampler here was wrought: Or Citherea's ceston, which All with temptation doth bewitch. Sweet airs move here, and more divine Made by the breath of great-eyed kine, Who, as they low, impearl with milk The four-leaved grass or moss like silk. The breath of monkeys met to mix With musk-flies are th' aromatics Which 'cense this arch; and here and there And farther off, and everywhere Throughout that brave mosaic yard, Those picks or diamonds in the card With peeps of hearts, of club, and spade Are here most neatly inter-laid Many a counter, many a die, Half-rotten and without an eye Lies hereabouts; and, for to pave