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STela mine onely Goddesse, and my good,
Whiter then is th’vntrodden snowie way,
And redder then the rose, but late a bud
Halfe blowen, and pluckt with deaw by breake of day:
To see more gracious then the Plane tree shape,
And sweeter then the ripe and swelling grape:
More pleasant then the shade in sommer time,
More then the sunne in winters coldest prime.

More fresh then any coole and trembling winde,
More noble then the fruit, that orchards yeelds,
More iocund then the tender kid, by kinde
When full, it skips and runs about the fields:
More flowrie then the rich and pleasant meade,
With painted flow’rs in mids of May bespred:
More soft then spotlesse downe in Cygnets brest,
More then the milke, and cheese curds yet vnprest.

More shining then cleere christall and transparent,
And finer wasted then the Cypres tree,
Straighter then is the Poplar eminent,
Placed amongst those trees that lower be
More cleere then ice, or any frozen raine
And (if in onely this thou dost disdaine,
Bicause it is with more perfection filled)
More faire then any Orchard that is tilled.

And yet with this more fierce and more vnstaied
Then Bull, that yet was neuer tam’d with yoke,
Prouder then Peacocke with her taile displaied,
Harder then old and knotty stur die oke:
More then the rocks immooueable, and madder
Then angrie snake, or cruell trodden adder.
More furious then the swiftest streames: then thornes
More sharpe and pricking with thy singing scornes.

More deafe then is the sea, to my desires:
Then smoothest streames more full of deepe deceate,
Stronger vnto my paines then greatest fires,
More cruell then Beare, that giues the teate:
Then Sallow wand, or Osier that is weake,
If it be greene, more hard and tough to breake.
More contrarie vnto my ioy, and rest,
Then hungrie woolfe to tender lambkins brest.

And that which doth increase my cruell paine,
And doth reuiue my hot and flaming fire,
By knowing which, it hath my comforts slaine,

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