116 APPENDIX. 



I must confesse, 

 Her chiefe arnisse 

 Is only this, 

 As some wives is, 



she cannot rule her tongue. 



She hath as sweet a face 



as any in seaven miles space ; 

 Her eyes chrystalline. 

 Like diamonds doe shine, 



she looks with a modest grace : 

 Her haire is like flax. 

 Her lips are red wax, 



that seal'd the bond so strong 

 Twixt her and I, 

 That till I die 

 Ille justifie 

 Her constancy : 



but she cannot rule her tongue. 



Her cheeks are red as the rose 



which June for her glory shows : 

 Her teeth on a row 

 Stand like a wall of snow 



between her round chin and her nose. 

 Her shoulders are decent, 

 Her armes white and pleasant, 



her fingers are small and long : 

 No fault, I find. 

 But in my minde. 

 Most womenkind 

 Must come behind : 



0, that she could rule her tongue ! 



Her breasts like Pyreene hills, 



which nature yearly fils 

 With liijuor that by ods. 

 Doth passe the drink o' th' gods ; 



all nectar it fur excels : 

 With this she doth feed 

 The twigs that proceed 



from our alfections strong. 

 She's fruitful as 

 The springing grasse, 

 No time lets passe, 

 And yet, alas ! 



she cannot rule her tongue. 



