Soft Love doth find, the spot where time untold
Shall guard the voice, strong to subdue our woes,
As did hell's furies Orpheus' voice of old,
The many charms I saw, though blind I ween,
Have made me tinder for the fire unseen.
ERASTRO.
Twain apples rosy-red no tree can bear
As those in Galatea's cheeks displayed;
Iris herself could boast no bow so fair
As the twain archèd eye-brows of the maid,