Violet, pine, crop, sow

Cymbeline, [4.2.170-182]. Belarius. “O thou goddess,/ Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon’st/ In these two princely boys! They are as gentle/ As zephyrs blowing below the violet,/ Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough,/ Their royal blood enchaf’d, as the rud’st wind/ That by the top doth take the mountain pine/ And makde him stoop to th’ vale, ‘Tis wonder/ That an invisible instinct should frame them/ To royalty unlearn’d, honor untaught,/ Civility not seen from other, valor/ That wildly grows in them but yields a crop/ As if it had been sow’d.”