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| ELEGIES. |
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| As the sweete sweate of Roses in a still [113] |
| As that w.ch from chaf'd muscats pores doth trill |
| As the almighty balme of th'early East |
| Such ar the sweete drops of my Mistris brest |
| And on her neck her skin such lustre setts |
| They seeme no sweate drops but pearle Coronets |
| Ranke sweaty froth thy Mistris browe defiles |
| Like Spermatique issue of ripe menstruous biles |
| Or like the Scum̀„ which, by needes law lesse Lawe |
| Enforc'd, Sancerras sterued men did draw |
| From parboyld shoes and bootes, and all the rest |
| W.ch were with any soueraigne fatnesse blest. |
| And like vile lying Stones in saffrond tinn |
| Or warts, or wheales, they* hangs vpon her skinn. |
| Round as the world's her head on every side |
| Like to that fatall ball w.ch fell on Ide |
| Or that whereof God had such Iealousy |
| As for the rauishing thereof wee dye. |
| Thy head is like a rough hewne statue of Iet |
| Where markes for eyes, nose, mouth ar scarsely sett. |
| Like the first Chaos or flat seeming face |
| Of Cinthia when earths shadowes her embrace |
| Like Proserpines white beawty keeping chest |
| Or Ioues best fortunes vrne is her fayre brest |
| Thine like worme eaten trunks clothd in seales skin |
| Or graue that's durt without and stench within |
| And like that slender stalke, at whose end stands |
| The woodbine quiuering, ar her Armes and hands
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[CW: Like] |