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MArk when she
smiles with amiable cheare,
And tell me whereto can
ye lyken it:
when on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare,
an hundred Graces as in shade to sit.
Lykest it
seemeth in my simple wit
vnto the fayre sunshine in
somers day:
that when a dreadfull storme away is
flit,
thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly
ray
At sight whereof each bird that sits on spray,
and euery beast that to his den was fled:
comes
forth afresh out of their late dismay,
and to the
light lift vp theyr drouping hed.
So my storme
beaten hart likewise is cheared,
with that sunshine
when cloudy looks are cleared.
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