 | The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton
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Of his Mistresse Beautie.
What ailes mine eies, or are my wits distraught,
Doe I not see, or know not what I see:
No marueil though I see that wonder wrought,
That on the earth another cannot bee.
What ment the Gods when first they did creat you,
To make a face to mocke all other features,
Angels in heauen will surelie deadlie hate you,
To leaue the world so full of foolish creatures:
Cheekes that enchaine the highest hearts in thrall,
Is it set downe such faire shall neuer fail you.
Hands, that the hearts of highest thoughts appall,
Was not Minerua made when she had made you:
Faire: looke on you, and farewell beauties grace,
Wise: why your wits the wisest doth abash.
Sweet: where is sweet, but in your sweetest face,
Rich: to your will all treasure is but trash.
Oh how these hands are catching at those eyes,
To feed this heart that onely liues vpon them,
Ah, of these hands what humors doe arise,
To blind these eyes that liue by looking on them.
But hearts must faint that must be going from you,
And eyes must weepe that in you loose their seeing,
Heauens be your place, where Angels better know you,
And earth is too base for such a Goddesse-beeing.
Yet where you come among those highest powers,
Craue pardon then for all these great offences,
That when you dwelt among these hearts of ours,
Your onelie eyes did blind our wits and sences.
Now if you see my will aboue my wit,
Thinke of the good that all your graces yeeld you:
A mazèd Muse must haue a madding fit,
Who is but mad that euer hath beheld you.
| The Works in Verse and Prose of Nicholas Breton
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