University of Virginia Library

Montanus praise of his faire Phæbe.

Phæbe sate,
Sweete she sate,
sweete sate Phæbe when I saw her,
White her brow
Coy her eye,
brow and eye, how much you please me?
Words I spent,
Sighs I sent,
sighs and words could neuer draw her,
Oh my Loue,
Thou art lost,
since no sight could euer ease thee.
Phæbe sate
By a Fount,
sitting by a Fount I spide her,
Sweete her touch,
Rare her voyce,
touch and voyce, what may distaine you?
As she sung,
I did sigh,
And by sighs whilst that I tride her,
Oh mine eyes
You did loose,
her first sight whose want did paine you
Phæbes flocks
White as wooll,
yet were Phæbes lookes more whiter,
Phæbes eyes
Doue-like mild,
Doue-like eyes both mild and cruell,
Montane sweares
In your Lamps,
he will die for to delight her,
Phæbe yeeld
Or I die,
shall true harts be fancies fuell?