Verses of Love

Have you seene but a bright Lille grow, 
     Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Have you mark'd but the fal o' the Snow
     Before the soyle hath smutchid it?
Have you felt the wool o' the Bever?
     Or Swans Downe ever?
Or have smelt o' the bud o' the Briar?
     Or the Nard in the fire?
Or have tasted the bag o' the Bee?
     O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!

II - She of him:
He would have a hand as soft 
As the Downe, and shew it off;
Skin as smooth as any rush, 
And so thin to see a blush 
Rising through it e're it came:
All his blood should be a flame, 
Quickly fired as in beginners 
In love's School, and yet no sinners.

Nor o'erpraise, nor yet condemn;
Nor outvallew, nor contemne;
Nor doe wrongs, nor wrongs receave;
Nor tie knots, nor knots unweave;
And from baseness to be free, 
As he durst love truth and me.
Such a man, with evry part, 
I could give my very heart

I'le taste as lightly as the Bee, 
That doth touch his flower, and fies away.