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,