Adorn'd with honour, love, and chastity?
Even this verse, vowd to eternity,
Shall be thereof immortall moniment,
And tell her prayse to all posterity,
That may admire such worlds rare wonder-

ment;

The happy purchase of my glorious spoile, Gotten at last with labour and long toyle.

LXX

Fresh Spring, the herald of loves mighty

king,

In whose cote-armour richly are displayd All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring,

In goodly colours gloriously arrayd,
Goe to my love, where she is carelesse layd,
Yet in her winters bowre, not well awake;
Tell her the joyous time wil not be staid,
Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take:
Bid her therefore her selfe soone ready
make,

To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew,
Where every one that misseth then her make
Shall be by him amearst with penance dew.
Make hast therefore, sweet love, whilest it
is prime;

For none can call againe the passed time.

Gently encage, that he may be your thrall: Perhaps he there may learne, with rare de

light,

To sing your name and prayses over all, That it hereafter may you not repent, Him lodging in your bosome to have lent.

Sweet fruit of pleasure, brought from Paradice

By Love himselfe, and in his garden plaste. Her brest that table was, so richly spredd; My thoughts the guests, which would thereon have fedd.

LXXVIII

Lackyng my love, I go from place to place, Lyke a young fawne that late hath lost the hynd,

And seeke each where, where last I sawe her face,

Whose ymage yet I carry fresh in mynd.
I seeke the fields with her late footing synd,
I seeke her bowre with her late presence
deckt,

Yet nor in field nor bowre I her can fynd;
Yet field and bowre are full of her aspect.
But when myne eyes I therunto direct,
They ydly back returne to me agayne,
And when I hope to see theyr trew object,
I fynd my selfe but fed with fancies vayne.
Ceasse then, myne eyes, to seeke her selfe

Joy of my life, full oft for loving you
I blesse my lot, that was so lucky placed:
But then the more your owne mishap I rew,
That are so much by so meane love em based.
For had the equall hevens so much you
graced

In this as in the rest, ye mote invent
Som hevenly wit, whose verse could have en-
chased

Your glorious name in golden moniment.
But since ye deignd so goodly to relent
To me your thrall, in whom is little worth,
That little that I am shall all be spent
In setting your immortall prayses forth:
Whose lofty argument, uplifting me,
Shall lift you up unto an high degree.

LXXXIII

Let not one sparke of filthy lustfull fyre Breake out, that may her sacred peace molest;

Ne one light glance of sensuall desyre Attempt to work her gentle mindes unrest: But pure affections bred in spotlesse brest, And modest thoughts breathd from wel tempred sprites,

Goe visit her in her chast bowre of rest, Accompanyde with angelick delightes. There fill your selfe with those most joyous sights,

The which my selfe could never yet attayne: But speake no word to her of these sad plights,

Which her too constant stiffenesse doth con

strayn.

Onely behold her rare perfection,

And blesse your fortunes fayre election.

LXXXIV

The world, that cannot deeme of worthy things,

When I doe praise her, say I doe but flatter: So does the cuckow, when the mavis sings, Begin his witlesse note apace to clatter. But they that skill not of so heavenly matter,

All that they know not, envy or admyre: Rather then envy, let them wonder at her, But not to deeme of her desert aspyre. Deepe in the closet of my parts entyre, Her worth is written with a golden quill: That me with heavenly fury doth inspire, And my glad mouth with her sweet prayses fill:

Which when as Fame in her shrill trump shal thunder,

Let the world chose to envy or to wonder.