Classic Poem

Her hayre was loose, & bout her shoulders hung,
Vpon her browes did Venus naked lye,
And in her eyes did all the Graces swim.
Her cheekes that showd the temper of the mind,
Were beauties mornings where she euer rose,
Her lyps were loues rich altars where she makes
Her hart a neuer-ceasing sacrifice:
Her teeth stoode like a ranke of Dians maydes
When naked in a secrete bower they bathe;
Her long round necke was Cupids quiuer calld,
And her sweet words that flew from her, his shafts,
Her soft round brests were his sole trauaild Alpes,
Where snow that thawed with sunne did euer lye,
Her fingers bounds to her rich deitie.