Another of the same

Happy shepherds, sit and see,
With joy.
The peerless wight
For whose sake Pan keeps from ye
Annoy, And gives delight.
Blessing this pleasant spring.
Her praises must I sing:
List, you swains, list to me.
The whiles your flocks feeding be.

First, her brow a beauteous globe
I deem.
And golden hair;
And her cheek Aurora's robe
Doth seem,
But far more fair.
Her eyes like stars are bright.
And dazzle with their light;
Rubies her lips to see,
But to taste nectar they be.

Orient pearls her teeth, her smile
Doth link
The Graces three;
Her white neck doth eyes beguile
To think
It ivory.
Alas! her lily hand
How it doth me command!

Softer silk none can be,
And whiter milk none can see.
Circe's wand is not so straight
As is
Her body small;
But two pillars bear the weight
Of this
Majestic hall.
Those be, I you assure,
Of alablaster pure;
Polish'd fine in each part:
Ne'er Nature yet show'd like art.

How shall I her pretty tread
Express
When she doth walk?
Scarce she does the primrose head
Depress, Or tender stalk
Of blue-vein'd violets.
Whereon her foot she sets.
Virtuous she is, for we find
In body fair beauteous mind.

Live fair Amargana still
ExtoU'd
In all my rhyme;
Hand want art, when I want will
T'unfold
Her worth divine.
But now my muse doth rest,
Despair closed in my breast.
Of the valour I sing;
Weake faith that no hope doth bring.