Poore painter, whilst I sought
To counterfaite by arte
The fairest frame that nature euer wrought,
And hauing limm'd each part,
Except her matchlesse eyes,
Scarce on those twinnes I gaz'd,
As lightning falles from skies,
When straight my hand benumm'd was, mind amaz'd;
And ere that pincell halfe them had exprest,
Loue all had drawne, no, grauen within my brest.