The praise of mistres Mabell Browne, wherein vertue is honoured.

IF I were Iudge, or had the choyce,
Of collours faire, to chuse the beste:
Unto the Browne, I giue my voyce,
As pearle of price, aboue the reste.
If men doe aske, the cause and why,
I praise the Browne, before the White:
I saie what thyng, contents the eye,
The harte therein, hath his delite.

The Browne or Blacke, doe seldome chaunge,
Thei still present, a sober grace:
The White and Redde, are light and straunge
Whose collours fade, and fall a pace.
The Browne is kept, from blott and staine,
When White will soile, by diuers waies:
The Skarlet beares, no better graine,
Then doeth the Browne, that I doe praise.

The whitest marke, is ofte desierd,
The fairest flowre, rests nere vnsmeld:
The Browne is, of fewe requierd,
The darkest dye, is worne but seld.
By whiche I proue, the thyng moste vsde,
Through many hands, maie be infecte:
Wherefore I maie, be well escuesde,
To praise the Browne, without suspecte.

Although the Lillie be full faire,
The sent and taste, is not so pure:
The pleasant clouds, within the aire,
Doe often hide, a stormie showre.
What Apple hath so sweete a taste,
As hath the Pippin Blacke and Browne:
Wherefore this collour I haue plaste,
Of worthie same, to weare the croune.