Are rarely fram'd t'intrap poore gazing eies:

His cheekes, the Lillie and Carnation dies,

With louely tincture which Apolloes dims.

His lips ripe strawberries in Nectar wet,

His mouth a Hiue, his tongue a hony-combe,

Where Muses (like Bees) make their mansion.

His teeth pure Pearle in blushing Correll set.

Oh how can such a body sinne-procuring,

Be slow to loue, and quicke to hate, enduring?