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Fayre is my
loue, when her fayre golden heares,
with the loose
wynd ye wauing chance to marke:
fayre when the rose
in her red cheekes appeares,
or in her eyes the fyre
of loue does sparke.
Fayre when her brest lyke a
rich laden barke,
with pretious merchandize she
forth doth lay:
fayre whe[n] that cloud of pryde,
which oft doth dark
her goodly light with smiles she
driues away.
But fayrest she, when so she doth
display,
the gate with pearles and rubyes richly
dight:
throgh which her words so wise do make their
way
to beare the message of her gentle spright,
The rest be works of natures wonderment,
but this
the worke of harts astonishment.
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