Go, lovely rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.
Circle are praised, not that abound, In largeness, but the exactly round.
The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!
With wisdom fraught; not such as books, but such as practice taught.
Give us enough but with a sparing hand.
Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.