SONG. To one who when I prais'd my Mistris beautie, said I was blind.

Wonder not though I am blind,
For you must bee
Darke in your eyes, or in your mind,
If when you see
Her face, you prove not blind like me.
If the powerfull beames that flye
From her eye,
And those amorous sweets that lye
Scatter'd, in each neighbouring part,
Find a passage to your heart;
Then you'le confesse your mortall sight
Too weake, for such a glorious light;
For if her graces you discover,
You grow like me a daze…'d lover;
But if those beauties you not spy,
Then are you blinder farre then I.