| |
| GIVE place, ye ladies, and begone, | |
| Boast not yourselves at all: | |
| For here at hand approacheth one | |
| Whose face will stain you all. | |
| |
| The virtue of her lively looks | 5 |
| Excels the precious stone: | |
| I wish to have none other books | |
| To read or look upon. | |
| |
| In each of her two crystal eyes | |
| Smileth a naked boy: | 10 |
| It would you all in heart suffice | |
| To see that lamp of joy. | |
| |
| I think Nature hath lost the mould | |
| Where she her shape did take; | |
| Or else I doubt if Nature could | 15 |
| So fair a creature make. | |
| |
| In life she is Diana chaste, | |
| In truth Penelope; | |
| In word and eke in deed steadfast: | |
| What will you more we say? | 20 |
| |
| If all the world were sought so far, | |
| Who could find such a wight? | |
| Her beauty twinkleth like a star | |
| Within the frosty night. | |
| |
| Her rosial color comes and goes | 25 |
| With such a comely grace, | |
| More ruddier too than in the rose, | |
| Within her lovely face. | |
| |
| At Bacchus’ feast none shall her meet, | |
| Nor at no wanton play, | 30 |
| Nor gazing in an open street, | |
| Nor gadding as astray. | |
| |
| The modest mirth that she doth use | |
| Is mixt with shamefastness; | |
| All vice she doth wholly refuse, | 35 |
| And hateth idleness. | |
| |
| O Lord! it is a world to see | |
| How virtue can repair | |
| And deck in her such honesty, | |
| Whom Nature made so fair! | 40 |
| |
| How might I do to get a graffe | |
| Of this unspotted tree? | |
| For all the rest are plain but chaff, | |
| Which seem good corn to be. | |
| |
