And in her locks my harte I folde;
Her amber tresses were the sight
That wrapped me in vaine delight:
Her ivorie front, her pretie chin,
Were stales that drew me on to sin:
Her starry lookes, her christall eyes,
Brighter than the sunnes arise:
Sparkling pleasing flames of fire,
Yoakt my thoughts and my desire,
That I gan cry ere I blin,