XXIX. As burnished gold, such are my Sovereign’s Hairs

Robert Tofte (1561–1620)

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.