¶ The Shepheard to the Flowers. +
S Weet Violets (Loues Paradise) that spread Your gracious odours, which you couched beare Within your palie faces: Vpon the gentle wing of some calme-breathing-winde (5) That playes amidst the Plaine, If by the fauour of propitious starres you gaine Such grace as in my Ladies bosome place to finde: Be proud to touch those places. And when her warmth your moysture forth doth weare, (10) Whereby her daintie parts are sweetly fed: Your honours of the flowrie Meades I pray, You pretty daughters of the Earth and Sunne: With milde and seemely breathing straite display My bitter sighs, that haue my hart vndone.
(15) Vermillion Roses, that with new dayes rise Display your crimson folds fresh looking faire, Whose radiant bright, disgraces The rich adorned rayes of roseate rising morne, Ah if her Virgins hand (20) Doe pluck your pure, ere Phœbus view the land, And vaile your gracious pompe in louely Natures scorne. If chaunce my Mistres traces Fast by your flowers to take the Sommers ayre: Then wofull blushing tempt her glorious eyes, (25) To spread their teares, Adonis death reporting,