Upon That Same
If sight bee not beguilde,
And eyes right playe their part,
This flowre is not of arte,
But is faire nature's child:
And though when Phœbus from vs is exilde,
Shee doth not locke her leaues, his losse to mone,
No wonder earth hath now moe sunnes than one.
And eyes right playe their part,
This flowre is not of arte,
But is faire nature's child:
And though when Phœbus from vs is exilde,
Shee doth not locke her leaues, his losse to mone,
No wonder earth hath now moe sunnes than one.
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