Her Bosome full of Blisses,
By Nature made for Kisses,
So pure and wond'rous cleere,
Whereas a thousand Graces
Behold their louely Faces,
60As they are bathing there.
O, thou selfe-little blindnesse,
The kindnesse of vnkindnesse,
Yet one of those diuine;
Thy Brands to me were leuer,
Thy Fascia, and thy Quiuer,
And thou this Quill of mine.
This Heart so freshly bleeding,
Vpon it owne selfe feeding,
Whose woundes still dropping be;
70O Loue, thy selfe confounding,
Her coldnesse so abounding,
And yet such heat in me.
Yet if I be inspired,
Ile leaue thee so admired,
To all that shall succeed,
That were they more then many,
'Mongst all, there is not any,
That Time so oft shall read.
Nor Adamant ingraued,
80That hath been choisely 'st saued,
Idea's Name out-weares;
So large a Dower as this is,
The greatest often misses,
The Diadem that beares.
To His Valentine
Muse, bid the Morne awake,
Sad Winter now declines,
Each Bird doth chuse a Make,
This day 's Saint Valentine's;
For that good Bishop's sake
Get vp, and let vs see,
What Beautie it shall bee,
That Fortune vs assignes.
But lo, in happy How'r,
10The place wherein she lyes,
In yonder climbing Tow'r,
Gilt by the glitt'ring Rise;
O Iove! that in a Show'r,
As once that Thund'rer did,
When he in drops lay hid,
That I could her surprize.
Her Canopie Ile draw,
With spangled Plumes bedight,
No Mortall euer saw
20So rauishing a sight;
That it the Gods might awe,
And pow'rfully trans-pierce
The Globie Vniuerse,
Out-shooting eu'ry Light.
My Lips Ile softly lay
Vpon her heau'nly Cheeke,
Dy'd like the dawning Day,
As polish'd Iuorie sleeke:
And in her Eare Ile say;
30O, thou bright Morning-Starre,
'Tis I that come so farre,
My Valentine to seeke.