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Within these woods of Arcadie, +He cheefe delight and pleasure tooke, And on the mountaine Parthenie, +Vpon the chrystall liquid brooke, (95) The Muses met him eu’ry day, That taught him sing, to write, and say.
When he descended downe the mount, His personage seemed most diuine, A thousand graces one might count, (100) Vpon his louely cheerefull eine, To heare him speake and sweetely smile, You were in Paradise the while.
A sweete attractiue kinde of grace, A full assurance giuen by lookes, (105) Continuall comfort in a face, The lineaments of Gospell books, +I trowe that countenance cannot lie, Whose thoughts are legible in the eie. +
Was neuer eie, did see that face, (110) Was neuer eare, did heare that tong, Was neuer minde, did minde his grace, That euer thought the trauell long, But eies, and eares, and eu’ry thought, Were with his sweete perfections caught.
(115) O God, that such a woorthy man, In whom so rare desarts did raigne, Desired thus, must leaue vs than, And we to wish for him in vaine, O could the stars that bred that wit, (120) In force no longer fixed sit. +
Then being fild with learned dew, +The Muses willed him to loue,