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Another of the same.
Happy Sheepheards sit and see,
with ioy,
The peerelesse wight:
For whose sake Pan keepes from ye
annoy,
And giues delight.
Blessing this pleasant Spring,
Her praises must I sing.
List you Swaines, list to me:
The whiles your Flocks feeding be.
with ioy,
The peerelesse wight:
For whose sake Pan keepes from ye
annoy,
And giues delight.
Blessing this pleasant Spring,
Her praises must I sing.
List you Swaines, list to me:
The whiles your Flocks feeding be.
First her brow a beauteous Globe,
I deeme,
And golden haire;
And her cheeke Auroraes roabe,
dooth seeme,
But farre more faire.
Her eyes like starres are bright.
And dazle with their light,
Rubies her lips to see,
But to tast, Nectar they be.
I deeme,
And golden haire;
And her cheeke Auroraes roabe,
dooth seeme,
But farre more faire.
Her eyes like starres are bright.
And dazle with their light,
Rubies her lips to see,
But to tast, Nectar they be.
Orient pearles her teeth, her smile
dooth linke
the Graces three:
Her white necke dooth eyes beguile
to thinke
it Iuorie.
Alas her Lilly-hand,
How it dooth me commaund?
Softer silke none can be:
And whiter milke none can see.
dooth linke
the Graces three:
Her white necke dooth eyes beguile
to thinke
it Iuorie.
How it dooth me commaund?
Softer silke none can be:
And whiter milke none can see.
Circes wand is not so straite,
as is
Her body small:
But two pillers beare the waight
of this
maiestick Hall.
Those be I you assure,
Of Alablaster pure,
Polish'd fine in each part:
Ne're Nature yet shewed like Art.
as is
Her body small:
But two pillers beare the waight
of this
maiestick Hall.
Those be I you assure,
Of Alablaster pure,
Polish'd fine in each part:
Ne're Nature yet shewed like Art.
How shall I her pretty tread
expresse
vvhen she dooth walke?
Scarse she dooth the Primerose head
depresse,
or tender stalke
Of blew-veind Violets,
Whereon her foote she sets.
Vertuous she is, for we finde
In body faire, beauteous minde.
expresse
vvhen she dooth walke?
Scarse she dooth the Primerose head
depresse,
or tender stalke
Of blew-veind Violets,
Whereon her foote she sets.
Vertuous she is, for we finde
In body faire, beauteous minde.
Liue faire Amargana still
extold
In all my rime:
Hand want Art, when I want will
t'vnfold
her woorth diuine.
But now my Muse dooth rest,
Dispaire clos'd in my brest,
Of the valour I sing:
Weake faith that no hope dooth bring.
extold
In all my rime:
Hand want Art, when I want will
t'vnfold
her woorth diuine.
But now my Muse dooth rest,
Dispaire clos'd in my brest,
Of the valour I sing:
Weake faith that no hope dooth bring.
FINIS.
W. H.
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