THY beauty, subject of my Song I make;
O fairest Fair! on whom depends my life:
Refuse not then the task I undertake
To please thy rage, and to appease my strife!
But with one smile remunerate my toil;
None other guerdon I, of thee desire.
Give not my lowly Muse new-hatched the foil,
But warmth; that she may at the length aspire
Unto the temples of thy star-bright Eyes;
Upon whose round orbs perfect Beauty sits:
From whence such glorious crystal Beams arise
As best my CHLORIS' seemly Face befits.
Which Eyes, which Beauty, which bright crystal Beam,
Which Face of thine, hath made my love extreme.