“Behold Andraemon and the unhappy sire Appear, and for their Dryope inquire; A springing tree for Dryope they find, And print warm kisses on the panting rind; Prostrate, with tears their kindred plant bedew, And close embraced, as to the roots they grew; The face was all that now remain’d of thee; No more a woman, nor yet quite a tree: Thy branches hung with humid pearls appear, From every leaf distils a trickling tear; And straight a voice, while yet a voice remains, Thus through the trembling boughs in sighs com plains: