5 Who hath the brest whose milk doth patience nourish,
Whose grace is such, that when it chides doth cherish:
To you, to you all song of praise be due,
Onely through you the tree of life doth floorish.
6 Who hath the hand which without stroke subdueth
Who long hid beautie with encrease renueth:
To you, to you all song of praise is due,
Only at you all envie hopelesse endeth.
7 Who hath the haire which most loose most fast tieth,
Who makes a man live then glad when he dieth: