Du Bartas his deuine weekes and workes translated: and dedicated to the Kings most excellent Maiestie by Iosuah Syluester

AN ODE OF THE LOVE AND beauties of Astraea.

To the most matchles-faire, and vertuous, M. M. H.

TETRASTICON.

THou, for whose sake my freedome I forsake, Who, murdring me, doost yet maintain my life: Heere, vnder PEACE, thy beauties Type I make, Faire, war-like Nimph, that keep'st me still in strife.

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.

'Tis not for the polisht rowes Of those Rocks whence Prudence flowes, That I still my sute pursue; Though that in those Countries new In the Orient lately found (Which in precious Gemmes abound) 'Mong all baytes of Auarice Be no Pearles of such a price.

'Tis not (Sweet) thine yuorie neck Makes me worship at thy beck; Nor that prettie double HILL Of thy bosome panting still: Though no fairest Laedas Swan, Nor no sleekest Marble can Be so smooth or white in showe, As thy Lillies, and thy Snowe.

'Tis not (O my Paradise) Thy front (euener than the yee) That my yeelding heart doth tye With his milde-sweet Ma••ostie: Though the siluer Moone befaine Still by night to mount her waine, Fearing to sustain disgrace, If by day shee meet thy face.

'Tis not that soft Sattin limme, With blew trailes enameld trimme, Thy hand, handle of perfection Keeps my thoughts in thy subiection: Though it haue such curious cunning, Gentle touch, and nimble running, That on Lute to heare it warble, Would mooue Rocks and rauish Marble.

'Tis not all the rest beside, Which thy modest vaile doth hide From mine eyes (ah too iniurious!) Makes me of thy loue so curious: Though Diana being bare, Nor Leucothoe passing rare, In the Crystall-flowing springs Neuer bath'd so beautious things.

What then (O diuinest Dame) Fires my soule with burning flame, If thine eyes be not the matches Whence my kindling Taper catches? And what Nectar from aboue Feedes and feasts my ioyes (my Loue) If they taste not of the dainties Of thy sweet lips sugred plenties?

What fell heat of couetize In my feeble bosome fries; If my heart no reckoning hold Of thy tresses purest gold? What inestimable treasure Can procure me greater pleasure Then those Orient Pearles I see When thou daign'st to smile on mee?

What? what fruit of life delights My delicious appetites, If I ouer-passe the messe Of those apples of thy brests? What fresh buds of scarlet Rose Are more fragrant sweet than those Then those Twins, thy Strawberrie teates, Curled-purled Cherrielets?

What (to finish) fairer limme, Or what member yet more trimme, Or what other rarer Subiect Makes me make thee all mine obiect? If it be not all the rest By thy modest vaile supprest (Rather) which an enuious cloud From my sight doth closely shroud.

Ah't's a thing farre more diuine, 'Tis that peere-les Soule of thine, Master-peece of Heav'ns best Art, Made to maze each mortall hart. 'Tis thine all-admired wit, Thy sweet grace and gesture fit, Thy milde pleasing curtesie Makes thee triumph ouer me.

But, for thy faire Soules respect, I loue Twin-flames that reflect From thy bright tra-lucent eyes: And thy yellow lockes likewise: And those Orient-Pearly Rocks Which thy lightning Smile vn-lockes: And the Nectar-passing blisses Of thy honey-sweeter kisses.

I loue thy fresh rosie cheeke Blushing most Aurora-like, And the white-exceeding skin Of thy neck and dimpled chin, And those Iuorie-marble mounts Either, neither, both at once: For, I dare not touch, to know If they be of flesh or no.

I loue thy pure Lilly hand Soft, and smooth, and slender; and Those fine nimble brethren small Arm'd with Pearle-shel helmets all. I loue also all the rest By thy modest vaile supprest (Rather) which an enuious cloud From my longing sight doth shroud.

FINIS.