AS burnished gold, such are my Sovereign's Hairs; A brace of stars divine, her blackish Eyes; Like to the fairest black the raven bears; Or fairer, if you fairer can devise. So likewise fair's the beauty of her Breasts; Where Pleasure lurks, where joy still dallying rests. This Venus' Bower, you rightly may compare To whitest snow that e'er from heaven fell; Or to the mines of alabaster fair. Woe's me! 'Tis sweet to sleep in Cupid's cell! Whilst he, the heart makes surfeit with delight; Through golden Hair, black Eyes, and Breast most white.
XXX.
UNto thy favour (which when Nature formed, She went beyond herself with cunning hand), I may compare what is, in world, adorned With beauty most; and with most grace doth stand. But every mortal whiteness, ne'er so white, The ivory white of thy white hand exceeds: So that my soul, which doth fair whiteness like, Rests on fair whiteness, and on whiteness feeds. For this is thought, and hoped of from thee: White as thy hands, so white thy faith shall be.
XXXI.