MAD

TO the delightfull Greene
Of you, faire radiant Eine,
Let each black yeeld beneath the starry Arch.
Eyes burnisht Heavens of Love,
Sinople Lamps of Jove,
Save all those hearts which with your flames you parch
Two burning Suns you prove;
All other Eyes compar'd with you deare lights
Are Hells, or if not Hells, yet dumpish Nights.
The Heavens [if we their Glasse
The Sea beleeve] are green not perfect blew,
They all make faire what ever faire yet was,
And they are faire because they look like you.