Beauty it selfe lyes here, in whom alone,
Each part injoy'd the same perfection.
In some the Eyes we praise; in some the Haire;
In her the Lips; in her the Cheeks are faire;
That Nymphs fine Feet, her Hands we beauteous call,
But in this forme we praise no part, but all.
The ages past have many beauties showne,
And I more plenty in our time have knowne;
But in the age to come I looke for none,
Nature despaires, because her pattern's gone.