Classic Poem

To my Mistres. La Debonaire

Shall I commend a Rose
Or write the Tinctures that the morn disclose
In Currall and in checkerd Amber
When Phebus rises from his watry Chamber
And how we are with bounties blest
Of Fragrant Spiceries fro'th'East

Shall I those Pearles preferr
Wher Natures self sits chifest Jeweller
Hang on the tender grass to shew
The pregnant Indies of her morning dew
Or Lilly, Primrose Vilet bring
To deck Her gainst some Reveling

Noe I'le conclude all these goe less
When I behould my Misteress
Whose evry dimple, evry smile
Whilst I contemplat the while
Me thinks as Master peece I see
Opend a Bank and Treasury
For Sweet and fayre
Beyond Compare
And though the Sun
At haight of noon doe shine
He must must confess that she hath wonn
Whose Rayes are more divine.