University of Virginia Library

9.

[Tell me, my thoughts (for you each Minute fly]

Tell me, my thoughts (for you each Minute fly,
And see those beautyes which mine eyes haue lost,)
Is any worthier Loue beneath the sky?
Would not the cold Norwegian mixt with frost
(If in their clyme she were) from her bright Eyes
Receiue a heat, so powrefully begun,
In all his veynes & nummed arteryes,
That would supply the lowenes of the sun?
I wonder at her harmony of words,
Rare (and as rare as seldome doth she talke)
That Riuers stand not in their speedy fords,
And downe the hills the trees forbeare to walke.
But more I muse, why I should hope in fine,
To get alone a Beauty so divine.