Ii

Thy beauty subject of my song I make, O fairest fair, on whom depends my life! Refuse not then the task I undertake, To please thy rage and to appease my strife; But with one smile remunerate my toil, None other guerdon I of thee desire. Give not my lowly muse new-hatched the foil, But warmth that she may at the length aspire Unto the temples of thy star-bright eyes, Upon whose round orbs perfect beauty sits, From whence such glorious crystal beams arise, As best my Chloris' seemly face befits; Which eyes, which beauty, which bright crystal beam, Which face of thine hath made my love extreme.