A neaste of vvaspes latelie fovnd out and discouered in the Law-countreys yealding as sweete hony as some of our English bees [by William Goddard] |
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 | A neaste of vvaspes latelie fovnd out and discouered in the Law-countreys |  |
2
[My sences standes amaz'd, my hands doe tremble]
My sences standes amaz'd, my hands doe trembleTo think to what I should my loue resemble,
Compare hir to the rose; hir cryimson die
Is farr more pure; hir white excells the Ivorie,
Vnto hir skynn rug'd is the smoothest Iett
The softest downe to it is counterfett
With in hir faces circute there are plac'd,
Two heaunlie sonns, by whom the world is grac'd,
Whose golden beames from-of hir lippes exhales,
That hunnye dewe which Poets Nectar calls
Soe faire is shee, soe sweete, smooth, soft, soe cleere
As on this Earthe naught like hir maie appeare,
Oh what a Matchles Mistresse haue I caught
That iustlie cann compare hir vnto naught
| A neaste of vvaspes latelie fovnd out and discouered in the Law-countreys | |