¶ The Shepheards commendation of his Nimph. +
W Hat Shepheard can expresse The fauour of her face? To whom in this distresse I doe appeale for grace. (5) A thousand Cupids flye About her gentle eye.
From which each throwes a Dart, That kindleth soft sweet fire Within my sighing hart, (10) Possessed by desire. No sweeter life I trie Then in her loue to die.
The Lilly in the field, That glories in his white: (15) For purenesse now must yeeld And render vp his right. Heauen pictur’d in her face, doth promise ioy and grace.
Faire Cinthiaes + siluer light, (20) That beates on running streames: Compares not with her white, Whose haires are all Sun-beames. So bright my Nimph doth shine As day vnto my eyne.