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Sacred PEACE, if I approue thee,
If more then my life I loue thee,
'Tis not for thy beautious eyes:
Though the brightest Lampe in skies
In his highest Sommer shine,
Seemes a sparke compar'd with thine,
With thy paire of selfe-like Sunnes,
Past all els-comparisons.
'Tis not (deere) the dewes Ambrosiall
Of those pretie lips so Rosiall,
Make me humble at thy feet:
Though the purest honey sweet
That the Muses birds doo bring
To Mount Hybla euery spring,
Nothing neere so pleasant is,
As thy liuely louing kisse.
'Tis not (Beauties Emperesse)
Th' Amber circlets of thy tresse,
Curled by the wanton windes,
That so fast my freedome bindes:
Though the pretious glittering sand
Richly strow'd on Tagus Strand;
Nor the graines Pactolus rol'd
Neuer were so fine a gold.