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To maistres D. A.
What cause, what reasō moueth me: what fansy fils my brainsThat you I minde of virgins al, whō Britan soile sustains
Bothe when to lady Mnemosynes dere daughters I resort,
And eke whē I ye season slow deceaue, wt glad disport?
What force, what power haue you so great, what charms haue you late foūd,
To pluck, to draw, to rauish hartes, & stirre out of ther stownd?
To you, I trow, Ioues daughter hath the louely gyrdle lent,
That Cestos hight: wherin there bee all maner graces blent,
Allurementes of conceits, of wordes the pleasurable taste:
That same, I gesse, hath she giuen you, and girt about your waste
Beset with sute of precious pearl, as bright as sunny day.
But what? I am beguilde, and gone (I wene) out of the way.
These causes to do not so much present your image prest,
That will I, nill I, night and day, you lodge within this brest:
Those gifts of your right worthy minde, those goldē gifts of mind
Loue of the one, and threefold powr: faith sacred, sound, sincere:
A modest maydens mood: an hert, from clowd of enuy clere:
Wit, fed with Pallas food diuine: will, led with louely lore:
Memorie, conteining lessons great of ladies fiue, and fowr:
Woords, sweeter, than the sugar sweet, with heauenly nectar drest:
Nothing but coomly can they carp, and wonders well exprest.
Such damsels did the auncient world, for Poets penns, suffise:
Which, now a dayes, welnye as rare, as Poets fyne, aryse.
Wherfore, by gracious gifts of god, you more than thrise yblest:
And I welblest myself suppose: whom chastefull loue imprest,
In frendships lace, with such a lasse, doth knit, and fast combine:
Which lace no threatning fortune shall, no length of tyme vntwine:
And I that daye, with gem snowwhite, will mark, & eke depaynt
With pricely pen: which, Awdley, first gan mee with you acquaint.
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