Compares not with her white, Whose haires are all Sunne-beames. So bright my Nimph dooth shine As day vnto my eyne.
(25) With this there is a red, Exceedes the Damaske-Rose: Which in her cheekes is spred, Whence euery fauour growes. In Skie there is no starre, (30) But she surmounts it farre.
When Phoebus from the bed Of Thetis dooth arise: The morning blushing red, In faire Carnation wise: (35) He shewes in my Nimphs face, As Queene of euery grace.
This pleasant Lilly white, This taint of Roseate red: This Cinthiaes siluer light, (40) This sweete faire Dea + spred, These Sun-beames in mine eye, These beauties make me die.
FINIS. Earle of Oxenford.