Or farre, in shade, or Sunne, that satisfied I was in passing by.
The Meade, the Mount, the Riuer, Wood, and Plaine, (30) With all their braue array, Yeeld not such sweet, as that faire face that’s bent Sorrowes and ioy in each soule to bestow In equall parts, procur’d by amorous fire Beauty and Loue in her their force haue tried, (35) to blind each humane eye.
Each wicked mind and will, which wicked vice doth staine, her vertues breake and stay: All ayres infect by ayre are purg’d and spent, Though of a great foundation they did grow. (40) O body, that so braue a soule do’st hire, And blessed soule, whose vertues euer priedaboue the starrie skie.
Onely for her my life in ioyes I traine my soule sings many a Lay: (45) Musing on her, new Seas I doe inuent Of soueraigne ioy, wherein with pride I rowe. The deserts for her sake I doe require, For without her, the Springs of ioy are dried and that I doe defie.