(5) Must be the heauen where as my soule shall rest, Though by their shine my bodie be deprest.
Hir eies shrowd pitie, pietie, and pure, Hir face shields Roses, Lillies, and delight, Hir hand hath powre, to conquere and allure, (10) Hir hart, holds honor, loue, remorce, and right, Hir minde is fraught, with wisdome, faith, and loue, All what is hirs, is borrowed from aboue.
Then mount my minde, and feare no future fall, Exceed conceit, for she exceeds conceit! (15) Burne louely lamps, to whom my lookes are thrall, My soule shall glorie in so sweete receit, Tho in your flames my corse to cinders wend, Yet am I proud to gaine a Phoenix end. +
T. L. Gent.
W Hen Pirrha made hir miracle of stones, +The baser sort of flintie molde she fram’d, Whose course compact concealed all at once, All what in nature could imperfect be, (5) So but imperfect perfect, was the shape, And minde euen with the mettall did agree.
The finer formes of Diamonds she made, A peereles substance matchles for the molde, Whence grew such shapes that heauen his pure for∣sook, (10) To frame a minde agreeing to the forme.
This by my proofe, I finde for certaine true, For why my mistres matchles in hir shape, For bodie farre exceeds my base report, For minde, no minde can craue more rare supplies, (15) And last I spie the Saphirs in hir eies, +
T. L. Gent.