What though your eyes bee starres, your haire, bee night
And all that Beauty W ch addornes yo r face
Yeeld in effect but such a sullen Light
It hardly serves, for to sett of that Grace
W ch every shaddowe yeeldeth in his Place,
Yet more then any other you delight.

For since I loue not w th mine eyes but Hart
Your red or white so little could incline,
Whither it came from nature or from art,
I should not thinke it eyther yours or mine,
As that w ch doth but w th the skinne confine
And w th the Light that gave it first departe.

Let novises in Love themselves addresse
Vnto those parts, which superficiall bee,
Cloris, I must ingeniously confesse
Nothinge appeares a reall faire to me
W ch at the most but sometimes I do see
But never can at any time possesse;

Giue me a Beauty at such distance sett
That all the senses w ch I would imploy
Beinge w th in an euen compasse mett
Each sense may there such equall share injoy
That neyther one the other shall destroy
Or force it for to pay its fellowes debt.

So though w th douelike murmurs I did rest
Faster enchanted then w th any spell
Lyinge w th in your armes, vpon your brest
Sippinge a Nectar kisse, whose fragrant smell
My tongue w th in your Lipps alone should tell,
I would not thinke my powers were opprest.

Then leaue your simpringe, Cloris, and make hast
W th out delightinge thus to heare me pray,
That all your sweets I may together tast.
Should I too longe on one Perfection stay
I might bee forced to linger on my way
Or leave thee w th the prayse, of beinge chast.