An Embleme which the Author composed in honour of his Mistris

Franke thy name doth promise much,
I thy nature were but such:
But alasse what difference growe
'Twixt those two, I onely know?
I alas that to thy bewtie
Am deuoted in all dewtie;
I that once inuented layes,
Singing them in Shepheards praise,
I that once from loue was free
Till I fell in loue with thee:
I that neuer yet began
Trade, to hold my mistris fan;
I that neuer yet could knowe,
Whether loue was high or lowe:
I that neuer loued was,
Nor could court a looking-glasse:
I that neuer knew loues lawe,
Nor lov'd longer then I sawe;
I that knew not what's now common,
To throw sheep-eyes at a woman:
I that neuer yet could proue,
Or make shew of heartie loue:
I that neuer broke my sleepe,
Nor did know what chams did keepe
Louers eyes: now can tell
What would please a louer well.
Shall I tell thee? yes I will,
And being tolde: or saue, or kill.
It would please him, if he might
Euer liue in' Mistris sight:
It would please him t' haue the hap,
But to sleep in 's Mistris lap:
Or to haue his Mistris faire,
With her hand to stroke his haire.
Or to play at foot-St. with him,
Or at barly-breake to breathe him:
Or to walke a turne or two,
Or to kisse, or coll, or woe;
Or in some retired Groue,
But to parly with his Loue.
Or when none that's iealous spies,
To looke babbies in his eyes:
Or when action ginnes to fayle,
To supply it with a tale.
Venus vnto Vulcane wedde,
Yet came Mars to Vulcanes bedde:
He and she being both in one,
Whilest poore Vulcan lies alone;
Or if this will not affoord
Ioy enough: obserue each bird
How she singles out her make
And to him does onely take.
See their billing each with other,
(Loue and dallying younc't together)
Mutuall loue inheres in either,
Being birds both of one feather;
Or if this yeeld no content.
To resort vnto the plant,
Which being grafted skilfully,
Brings forth fruit aboundantly:
Deeper that the plant's we see,
Sooner will it fruitfull be,
Which (my franke) in modesty,
Thus I will apply to thee.
Deeper that thy loue is set,
More impression may it get:
Riper fruits then such as growe,
And are planted scarce so lowe:
If you aske me what I seeme,
By impression for to meane,
I will tell thee: such as these,
Impressions onely women please.
"Coine for stampe sake we allowe:
So for stampe sake do we you,
Weake's that Euidence you know
That has neither scale to showe,
Stampe, impression: such (I ken)
Are you may de, not stampt by mn
Weake, God wot, for why you take
Your perfection from your make:
Then if thou desire to be
Perfect, haue recours to me:
Or some other that may giue,
What old Adam gaue to Eue,
'Lasse its nothing: pray thee take it,
Many wish it that forsake it.
But when shamefull dance is done,
They could wish they had begun
Many yeeres before they learnt it,
(O how gladly would they earne it?)
But too long, I seeme to stay,
Ere thy beauty I display:
Spare me sweetest for my Muse,
Seldome makes so faire a chuse.
Chuse it Lou what ere it be,
Reade thy owne Anatomie.

Purest of Ophyr-gold, let me prepare
First for the choice description of thy hayre,
Which like the finest thrids of purple seeme
Clere to out-strip those of the Paprian Queene;
Whose tender tresses were so neatly wrought,
As Cholcos fleece seem'd to be thither brought,
And sure it was what ere fond Poets say,
And this was th' fleece which Iason tooke away.
Delicious Amber is the breath which flowes
From those perfumed conduits of thy nose,
Thy smile, a snare, which tempts the way-ward boy
Adon the faire, and bids him leaue to ioy
I Forrest pleasures, there's a fruitlesse marke,
Hauing more store of game within thy parke.
Thy lippes (two gates) where loue makes entrie in,
And yet so modest as nere taxt of sinne:
Thy cheek, that rosie circlet of pure loue,
Resembling neerest that Castalian groue;
Where such variety of flowers appeare
That nought seems good, which is not beter'd there
Thy bush (pure blush) Emleme of Chastitie
Blushing, yet guildesse of ought done by thee
Portends a maidens honest-spotlesse heart,
Hauing thy blush by nature not by Art.
Thy chin (that dimpled mout) which hath last plac
Yet giues no lesser bewy to thy face:
Then th'greatest ornament: for it doth show,
Like to a pleasant Vale seated belowe
Some steepy Mount: thy christall eyes the fount,
Thy chin the Vale, thy louely face the Mount.
O is not then this feature, boue compare,
Where breath is perfume, and pure gold is hayre
Where smiles are snares, lippes gates of Iuorie,
Cheekes roses, blushes types of chastitie:
Where chin a vale, the browe the mount, the face
That Soueraigne of the heart, that keeps loues place:
Where shall I looke then, or how shall I moue
These eyes of mine and teach them not to loue?
For if my eyes should but thy haire beholde,
I must be forc't to loue for it is golde:
If thy delicious breath I chaunce to sip,
Being the rosie verdure of thy lip;
I deeme my selfe in that sweet perfume blest
Much more, in that, worse breaths be in request:
If thou do smile, I loue, and wish the while,
That I might only liue to see thee smile.
If thou do speake (pure Orator) I'me dumb,
For why? thy admiration curbs my tongue.
If thou but blush (as maydes are wont to doe)
My passions are perplex'd, I wot not how,
'Twixt feare and loue feare makes me wondrous pale,
Fearing thy blush came from some wanton tale.
Too too immodest spoken by my selfe,
Which to assoyle Ile reprehend my selfe;
If I but utch, to tutch 's a veniall sin,
The pretty circle of thy dimpled chin:
I vowe and in my vowe giues Bewtie thanks,
That chin was Venus, though it now be Franks.
Yet haue I not spoke all that I dot see;
Or at least iudge in thy Anatomie:
For true Anatomists being men of Art,
Know the exact description of each part,
Member and arterie: so should my sight
Be in my Franke if I describe her right,
Which that I might reduce to some full end,
Though there's no end in loue, I will descend
To the distinct relation of the rest,
And in my Franks discouery thinke me blest.
Thy waste, (withu waste) like a curious frame
Aptly proportion'd still reserues the same:
Or like some well composed Instrument
Exact in forme, in accent excellent;
So is thy waste, and happy may he be,
That's borne to make it strik true harmony.
Thy belly (if coniectures true may be)
For we must guesse at that we cannot see,
Is like an orient Cordon pealed faire,
With diuerse feats of Nature here and there.
Where glides a christall streameling to abate,
The heate of Nature oft insatiate.
Pardon me Deere: Nature ordained first
That Fount of yours, to quench the place of thirst
Thy thigh (imagination now must doe)
For I must speake, though well I know not how,
Like the laborious and the loaden Bee.
That hastens to her hiue melodiously.
Nor is her freight more luscious (Deere) then thine,
For thine is full of pleasure, hers of Thyme:
Thy knee like to an orbe that turnes about,
Giuing free passage to thy nimble foote,
Apt for each motion, actiue in loues sphere,
Moouing her ioints to trip it euery where.
Thy legge (like Delias) neither bigge nor small,
But so well fram'd and featured in all,
That Nature might seeme enuious to impart,
So great a good, and hide so good a part.
Thy foote the curioust module of the rest,
For Art and Nature there be both exprest:
Art in the motion, Nature in the frame,
Where action works and motion moues the same.
Nor can I credite what our Poets say,
Affirming Venus chanc't vpon a day
To pricke her foote, so as from th'blood she shed.
The damaske-rose grew euer after red;
For if from blood such strange effects should be,
Stanger (ere this) had been deriu'd from thee:
But Poets though they write, Painters portray,
It's in our choice to credit what they say.
Yet credit me (for I would haue thee know it)
I neuer yet durst challenge name of Poet:
Onely thine owne I am and still will be,
For whom I writ this poore Anatomie.