Infinit streames continually did well
Out of this fountaine, sweet and fair to see,
The which into an ample laver fell,
And shortly grew to so great quantitie,
That like a little lake it seemd to bee,
Whose depth exceed not three cubits hight,
That through the waves one might the bottom see,
All pav'd beneath with jaspar shinning bright,
That semd the fountaine in that sea did sayle upright....
The joyous birds, shrouded in chearefull shade
Their notes unto the voyce attempred sweet;
Th'angelical soft trembling voyces made
To th'instruments divine respondence meet;
The silver-sounding instruments did meet
With the base murmure of the waters fall;
The waters fall with difference discreet
Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call;
The gentle warbling wind low answered to all....
Upon a bed of roses she was layd,
As faint through heat, or dight to pleasant sin;
And was arayd or rather disarayd,
All in a vele of silke and silver thin,
That hid no whit her alabaster skin,
But rather shewd more white, if more might bee:
More subtile web Arachne cannot spin;
Nor the fine nets, which oft we woven see
Of scorched deaw, do not in th'ayre more lightly flee.
Her snowy brest was bare to ready spoyle
Of hungry eyes, which n'ote therewith be fild;
And yet, through languour of her late sweet toyle,
Few drops, mor cleare than nectar, forth distild,
That like pure Orient perles adowne it trild;
And her faire eyes, sweet smyling in delight
Moystened their fierie beams, with which she thrild
Fraile harts, yet quenched not; like starry light
Which, sparckling on the silent waves, does seeme more bright.
(Liv. II, ch. XII.)
[340]: Harrington's Nugæ antiquæ.
Some asked me where the rubies grew,
And nothing did I say,
But with my finger pointed to
The lips of Julia.
Some asked how pearls did grow, and where;
Then spake I to my girl,
To part her lips, and show me there
The quarelets of pearl.
One ask'd me where the roses grew;
I bade him not go seek;
But forthwith bade my Julia show
A bud in either cheek.
(Herrick.)
About the sweet bag of a bee,
Two Cupids fell at odds;
And whose the pretty prize should be,
They vowed to ask the gods.
Which Venus hearing, thither came,
And for their boldness stript them;
And taking thence from each his flame,
With rods of myrtle whipt them.
Which done, to still their wanton cries,
When quiet grown sh' had seen them,
She kiss'd and wiped their dove-like eyes,
And gave the bag between them.