[Lyke Dyvers Flowers whose dyvers Beutyes serve]
Pamela.
Lyke Dyvers Flowers whose dyvers Beutyes serve,
To decke the Earthe with this well coloured weede,
Thoughe eche of them his private forme preserve,
Yet joyning Formes, one sighte of Bewty breede
Right so my thoughtes whereon my harte I feede.
Right so my Inwarde partes and owteward glasse,
Thoughe eche possess a dyvers worcking kynde,
Yet all well knitt, to one fayre ende do passe,
That hee to whome these sondry giftes I bynde,
All what I am still one his owne to fynde.
Musidorus.
All that yow are still one his owne to fynde,
Yow that are Borne to bee the worldes eye,
What were yt ellse but to make eche thing blynde,
And to the Sunne with Waxen winges to flye,
No, No, suche force with my smalle force to trye
Ys not my skill, nor reache of mortall mynde.
Calle mee but youres, my Tytle ys moste hye?
Holde mee moste youres, then my Longe sute ys signde?
Yow none can clayme, But, yow youre self by Righte
For yow doo pass youre self in vertues mighte,
So bothe are youres, I bounde with gaged harte,
Yow onely youres too farr beyond Desert.
