Whence euery fauor groes, In skie there is no starre, (30) That she surmounts not farre.
When Phoebus from the bed, Of Thetis doth arise, The morning blushing red, In faire carnation wise, (35) He shewes it in hir face, As Queene of euery grace.
This pleasant Lillie white, This taint of roseat red, This Cinthias siluer light, (40) This sweete faire Dea spread, +These sunbeames in mine eie, These beauties make me die.
A most excellent passion set downe
by N. B. Gent. +
C Om yonglings com, that seem to make such mone, About a thing of nothing God he knowes: With sighes and sobs, and many a greeuous grone, And trickling teares, that secret sorow showes, (5) Leaue, leaue to faine, and here behold indeed, The onely man, may make your harts to bleed.
Whose state to tell; no, neuer toong can tell: Whose woes are such; oh no, there are none such: Whose hap so hard: nay rather halfe a hell: (10) Whose griefe so much: yea God he knowes too much: Whose wofull state, and greeuous hap (alas,) The world may see, is such as neuer was.