O who can sing her beauties best, or that remaines vnsung? Doe thou Apollo tune the rest, vnworthy is my tongue. (105) To gaze on her, is to be blest, so wondrous fayre her face is; Her fairenes cannot be exprest, in Goddesses nor Graces. I loue my loue, the goodly worke of Nature: (110) Admire her face, but more admire her stature.
On thee (ô Cosma ) will I gaze, and reade thy beauties euer: Delighting in the blessed maze, which can be ended neuer. (115) For in the luster of thy rayes, appeares thy parents brightnes: Who himselfe infinite displaies in thee his proper greatnes. My song must end, but neuer my desire: (120) For Cosmas face is Theorellos fire.
FINIS. E. B.
Astrophels Loue is dead. +
R Ing out your belles, let mourning shewes be spread, For Loue is dead. All loue is dead infected With plague of deepe disdaine: (5) Worth as nought worth reiected, And faith faire scorne doth gaine. From so vngratefull fancie, From such a femall frenzie, From them that vse men thus: (10) Good Lord deliuer vs.