¶The Sheepheard to the flowers.
SWeete Violets (Loues Paradise) that spread
Your gracious odours, which you couched beare
Within your palie faces:
Vpon the gentle wing of some calme-breathing-winde
That playes amidst the Plaine,
If by the fauour of propitious starres you gaine
Such grace as in my Ladies bosome place to finde:
Be proude to touch those places.
And when her warmth your moysture foorth dooth weare,
Whereby her daintie parts are sweetly fed:
Your honours of the flowrie Meades I pray,
You prettie daughters of the earth and Sunne:
With mild and seemely breathing straite display
My bitter sighs, that haue my hart vndone.
Vermillion Roses, that with new dayes rise
Display your crimson folds fresh looking faire,
Whose radiant bright, disgraces
The rich adorned rayes of roseate rising morne,
Ah if h•••• Virgins hand.
Doo pluc•• ••••r pure, ere Phoebus view the land,