GEM  of  the  mountains,  glory  of  our  plains,
Rare  miracle  of  nature  and  of  love,
Sweet  Atlas,  who  all  beauty's  heavens  sustains,
No,  beauty's  heaven,  where  all  her  wonders  move,
The  sun  from  east  to  west  who  all  doth  see,  5

Ont  his  low  globe  sees  nothing  like  to  thee.
One  Phoenix  only  liv'd  ere  thou  wast  born,

And  earth  but  did  one  queen  of  love  admire  ;

Three  Graces  only  did  the  world  adorn,

But  thrice  three  Muses  sung  to  Phoebus'  lyre  :  10

Two  Phoenixes  be  now,  love's  queens  are  two,
Four  Graces,  Muses  ten,  all  made  by  you  !

For  those  perfections  which  the  bounteous  heaven
To  diverse  worlds  in  diverse  times  assign'd,
With  thousands  more,  to  thee  at  once  were  given,     is
Thy  body  fair,  more  fair  they  made  thy  mind  ;
And  that  thy  like  no  age  should  more  behold,
When  thou  wast  fram'd  they  after  brake  the  mould.
Sweet  are  the  blushes  on  thy  face  which  shine,
Sweet  are  the  flames  which  sparkle  from  thine  eyes,  2j


MADRIGALS  AND  EPIGRAMS        181

Sweet  are  his  torments  who  for  thee  doth  pine,
Most  sweet  his  death  for  thee  who  sweetly  dies,
For  if  he  die,  he  dies  not  by  annoy,
But  too  much  sweetness  and  abundant  joy.
What  are  my  slender  lays  to  show  thy  worth  ?  25

How  can  base  words  a  thing  so  high  make  known  ?

So  wooden  globes  bright  stars  to  us  set  forth  ;

So  in  a  crystal  is  sun's  beauty  shown  :

More  of  thy  praises  if  my  muse  should  write,
More  love  and  pity  must  the  same  indite.  so


THAUMANTIA  AT   THE  DEPARTURE  OF   IDMON.
