A face that’s best
By its own beauty drest,
And can alone commend the rest.
A cheek where youth
And blood, with pen of truth,
Write what the reader sweetly rueth.
A cheek where grows
More than a morning rose,
Which to no box his being owes.
Lips where all day
A lover’s kiss may play,
Yet carry nothing thence away.
Looks that oppress
Their richest tires, but dress
And clothe their simple nakedness.
Eyes that displace
Their neighbour diamond, and out-face
That sunshine by their own sweet grace.
Tresses that wear
Jewels, but to declare
How much themselves more precious are;
Whose native ray
Can tame the wanton day
Of gems that in their bright shades play.
Each ruby there,
Or pearl that dare appear,
Be its own blush, be its own tear.
A well-tamed heart,
For whose more noble smart
Love may be long choosing a dart.