As faire, as Psyches bosome, in that howre, When she disclosde the boxe of Beauties Queene, All this and more, is in Sibilla seene.
T. W. Gent.
S Ir painter, are thy colours redie set, +My Mistresse can not be with thee to day, Shee’s gone into the field to gather May, The timely Prymrose, and the Violet: (5) Yet that thou maist, not disapointed bee, Come draw hir picture by my fantasee.
And well for thee, to paint hir by thine eare, For should thine eie, vnto that office serue, Thine Eie, and Hand, thy Art, & Hart, would swerue, (10) Such maiestie hir countenance doth beare, And where thou wert Apelles thought before, For failing so, thou shouldst be praisd no more.
Drawe first hir Front, a perfect Iuorie white, Hie, spatious, round, and smooth on either side, (15) Hir temples brancht with vains, blew, opening wide. As in the Map, Danubius runs in sight: Colour hir semicircled browes with iet, The throne where Loue triumphantly doth set.
Regard hir Eie, hir eie, a woondrous part, (20) It woundeth deepe, and cureth by and by, It driues away, and draweth curteously, It breeds and calmes, the tempest of the hart, And what to lightning Ioue, belongeth too, The same hir lookes, with more effect can doe. +
(25) Hir Cheeke, resembleth euerie kinde of way, The Lillie stainde, with sweete Adonis blood, As wounded he strai’d vp and downe the wood, For whome faire Venus languisht many a day,