Classic Poem

Thy whitenes (ALBA) I may well compare
To Delia , when no clowde doth her obscure:
Thy haires to Phoebus lightning in the Aire,
When he doth shine with greatest Luster pure.
 Thy diamond eyes, like to a frostie Night,
 Where sparkling stars doe shooting take their flight

Thy cheekes Aurora like, when with her Dew,
The Rose and Lillie she doth sprinkle sweete:
Resembling drops that seeded Pearle doe shew,
As if that double Beautie did them greete.
 Thy Hand, no hand, it is the daintie Glove,
 Which Psyches ware, when she was wed to LOVE.

What art thou, but All faire in outward show,
But inwardly th'art Cruel and unkinde:
In thy faire Face all Favours sweet doe grow,
But Thornes and Briars in thy Hart I finde:
 With shew of sweet thou lur'st and dost entise,
 But bitterly thou makst them pay the price.

Thou cruell lead'st my life to dismall Death,
My hope from all her Joyes thou dost confine:
Thou art the corde that stopst my vitall breath,
And Armes with Armes against me dost conjoyne.
 Thou only art the SHE that's fenst with hate,
 And dost thy selfe of pitie naked make.