Classic Poem

Thrise trebble blessed BRACELET, rich in prise,
I envie not thy perlie fret, nor golde,
But fortune thine, because in happie wise,
The place of perfect pleasure thou dost holde.
About that wrist thou turnst and windst so oft,
More white then Snow, then thistle down more soft.

Base mindes love Golde, tis not thy Golde I steeme,
For this I onely value thee at much,
Because an Ornament th'art to be seene,
Of her white Hand yclept of right NONESUCH,
NONESUCH indeede, whose Beautie is so rare,
As nere the like, attainde the perfects Faire.

This is the cause so highlie I thee rate,
As all the golden Mines of Indian ground,
Nor Seas of Pearle can countervaile thy state,
Wherein thou art this present to be found:
And, if that trueth I shall confesse indeede,
The wealth of all the world thou dost exceede.

But when I marke, how by strange cunning Art,
Faire lovelie Haires, with Pearle and Golde conjoyne,
A pleasing joy doth seaze upon my Heart,
Whilest with strange pleasures, Fancie feeds my mind:
So as (sweete BRACELET) thou dost rightly prove,
To be th'enchantment of bewitching LOVE.