_Omphale_ turn'd into a Distaff.
Nay, the _Hesperian_ Tree was this,
As shew the _Poma Veneris_;
These Apples doubtless were the Fruit
That 'twixt the Queens rais'd such Dispute,
To make 'em all _stark-naked_ stand,
While _Paris_ held it in his Hand,
And _chuck'd_ it into _Venus_' Mouth,
'Cause she with Beauty fir'd the Youth.

The Virtues are of such great Note,
That twenty Volumes might be wrote;
The Juice alone Green-Sickness cures,
And purges thro' all corporal Pores;
If any Maid be sick, or faint
Of Love, or Father's close Constraint,
One Spoonfull of this Cordial Balm
Soon stops each Grief, and every Qualm;
'Tis true, they sometimes Tumours cause,
And in the Belly make strange Flaws,
But a few Moons will make 'em sound,
And safely fetch the Swelling down.

Not Saffron chears the Heart like this,
Nor can Champaign give such a Bliss:
When Wife and Husband do fall out,
And both remain in sullen pout,
This brings them to themselves again,
And fast unites the broken Chain;
Makes Feuds and Discords straightway cease