Narcissus

The proud Carnation dipp’d in brightest dyes, Who still with thirst of praise and glory burns; With her whose mirrour cheats deluded eyes, And she that still to her lov’d Phœbus turns.

There, with their num’rous chiefs of diff’rent hues, The painted Cock’s Comb, and his lofty train, Their beauties vaunting, to the rest refuse To share the glories of their gaudy reign.—

The judges sat, each sep’rate claim was heard, While some for rule, and some for praises, sought; And some had been disgrac’d, and some preferr’d, As in the goddess’ mind their various pleadings wrought

But her lov’d consort, gently whisp’ring, said: “What means my Queen, on these to cast her sight, Who have but pride or lust of sway display’d, Nor brought their real worth or virtues to the light?”