the Favour of some fair Virtuoso, and being by her _plac'd in a
HOT-BED_, have been restor'd to their pristine Strength, and flourish'd
again; and like true Heroes, not envying the busy World, have been
content to _spend_ the remainder of their Days in an obscure Nook of the
World.

Thus, Gentlemen, and as all Poets chuse the most Worthy to patronize
their Works, I humbly offer ye the following Poem, and that you may
still continue as ye now are; that your Trees may ever flourish, your
_Green-houses_ be secure, nor your _young Plants_ be ever nipt in the
_Bud_, and that you may ever _stand_ against all _Cracks_, Storms,
Tempests, and _Eruptions_,

_Is the hearty Wishes of Your's_,

BOTANICUS.

THE Natural HISTORY OF THE TREE of LIFE.

The Tree of which I fain would sing,
If the kind Muse her Aid would bring,
Is _Arbor Vitae_; but in brief,
By vulgar Men call'd--_Tree of Life_.

First for Description then, 'tis such
As needs must captivate you much.
In Stem most streight, of lovely Size,
With Head elate this Plant doth rise;
First bare--when it doth further shoot,
_A Tuft of Moss_ keeps warm the Root:
No _Lapland_ Muff has such a Fur,
No Skin so soft has any Cur;
This touch'd, alone the Heart can move,
Which Ladies more than Lap-dogs love;
From this erect springs up the Stalk,
No Power can stop, or ought can baulk;
On Top an _Apex_ crowns the Tree,
As all Mankind may plainly see;
So shines a Filbeard, when the Shell,
Half gone, displays the _ruby Peel_
Or like a Cherry bright and gay,
Just red'ning in the Month of _May_.

As other Trees bear Fruit at Top,
And they who rob 'em must _climb up_;
This still more rare doth upward shoot,
But at the Bottom bears its Fruit,
And they who'd reap its Virtues strong,
Need but to lay 'em _all along_,
_Ope' wide, their Mouths_, and they'll receive
The _Fruit of Life_, and eat, and live:
Not the fair Tree that _India_ bears,
All over Spice both Head and Ears,
Can boast more Gifts than the Great Pow'rs
Have granted to this Tree of ours:
That in good Ale its Power boasts,
And ours has _Nutmeg's_ fit for _Toasts_
And Bags by _Nature_ planted grow,
To keep 'em from all Winds that blow.

The Rise is slow, and by Degrees,
Both Fruits and Tree itself increase
So slow, that ten Years scarce produce
_Six Inches_ good and fit for Use;
But fifteen ripen well the Fruit,
And