University of Virginia Library

Epig. 15 In Fucam

In Fucaes face the Graces seeme to mart,
So like she is the blushing rose-red morne,
Sure in her shape the Gods all bore a part,
A withered Hermite fiue-score winters worne
Might shake off fiftie, seeing her beforne:
Yet Fuca dare not venture in the ayre,
For feare the water wash away her fayre.