Her cheeks like ripen'd lilies steep'd in wine,
Or fair pomegranate kernels washed in milk,
Or snow-white threads in nets of crimson silk,
Or gorgeous clouds upon the sun's decline.
Her lips are roses over-washed with dew,
Or like the purple of Narcissus' flower...
Her cristal chin like to the purest mould
Enchas'd with dainty daisies soft and white,
Where Fancy's fair pavilion once is pight,
Whereas embrac'd his beauties he doth hold.
Her neck like to an ivory shining tower,
Where through with azure veins sweet nectar runs,
Or like the down of swans where Senesse woons,
Or like delight that doth itself devour.
Her paps like fair apples in the prime,
As round as orient pearls, as soft as down.
They never vail their fair through winter's frown,
But from their sweets Love suck'd his summer time.
Greene (Melicertus' eglogue).
What need compare when sweet exceed compare?
Who draws his thought of love from senseless things.
Their pomp and greatest glories doth impair,
And mount love's heaven with overladen wings.
[314]: As you like it.
[315]: The Sad Shepherd. Voyez aussi Flechter and Beaumont: the Faithful Shepherdess.
Come, live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That vallies, groves, and hills and fields,
Woods or steepy mountains yields.