Or their blacknesse doth arise
From the Sun-beams of your eyes,
Where Apollo seemes to sit,
As he’s God of Day and Wit;
Your piercing Rayes, so bright, and cleare,
Shewes his beamy Chariots there.
Then the black upon your brow,
Sayest wisdomes sable hue, [? sagest]
Tells to every obvious eye,
There’s his other Deity.