Hymne XVIII: Of her Phantasie

Exquisite curiositie,
Looke on thy selfe with iudging eye,
If ought be faultie leaue it,
So delicate a phantasie
As this, will straight perceiue it.

Because her temper is so fine,
Endewed with harmonies diuine:
Therefore if discord strike it,
Her true proportions do repine,
And sadly do mislike it.

Right otherwise a pleasure sweete,
Euer she takes in actions meete;
Gracing with smiles such meetnesse;
In her faire forehead beames appeare:
No Sommers day is halfe so cleare,
Adornd with halfe that sweetnesse.