semyth from afar
Lyke to the radyant star,
All with fauour fret,
So properly it is set:
She is the vyolet, 1050
The daysy delectable,
The columbine[434] commendable,
The[435] ielofer amyable;
[For][436] this most goodly floure,
This blossom of fressh colour,
So Jupiter me succour,
She florysheth new and new
In beaute and vertew:
Hac claritate gemina
O gloriosa fœmina, 1060
Bonitatem fecisti cum servo tuo, domina,
Et ex præcordiis sonant præconia!
And whan I perceyued
Her wart and conceyued,
It cannot be denayd
But it was well conuayd,
And set so womanly,
And nothynge wantonly,
But ryght conuenyently,
And full congruently, 1070
As Nature cold deuyse,
In most goodly wyse;
Who so lyst beholde,
It makethe louers bolde
To her to sewe for grace,
Her fauoure to purchase;
The sker upon her chyn,
Enhached[437] on her fayre skyn,
Whyter than the swan,
It wold make any man 1080
To forget deadly syn
Her fauour to wyn;
For this most goodly[438] floure,
This blossom of fressh coloure,
So Jupiter me socoure,
She flouryssheth new and new
In beaute and vertew:
Hac claritate gemina
O gloriosa fœmina,
Defecit in salutatione tua[439] anima mea; 1090
Quid petis filio, mater dulcissima? babæ! [440]
Soft, and make no dyn,
For now I wyll begyn
To haue[441] in remembraunce
Her goodly dalyaunce,
And her goodly pastaunce:
So sad and so demure,
Behauynge her so sure,
With wordes of pleasure
She wold make to the lure 1100
And any man conuert
To gyue her his hole hert.
She made me sore amased
Vpon her whan I gased,
Me thought min hert was crased,
My eyne were so dased;
For this most goodly flour,
This[442] blossom of fressh colour,
So Jupyter me socour,
She flouryssheth new and new 1110
In beauty and vertew:
Hac claritate gemina
O gloriosa fœmina,
Quomodo dilexi legem tuam, domina!
Recedant vetera, nova sint[443] omnia.
And to amende her tale,
Whan she lyst to auale,
And with her fyngers smale,
And handes soft as sylke,
Whyter than the[444] mylke, 1120
That are so quyckely vayned,
Wherwyth my hand she strayned,
Lorde, how I was payned!
Vnneth I me refrayned,
How she me had reclaymed,
And me to her retayned,
Enbrasynge therwithall
Her goodly[445] myddell small
With sydes longe and streyte;
To tell you what conceyte 1130
I had than in a tryce,
The matter were to nyse,
And yet there was no vyce,
Nor yet no villany,
But only fantasy;
For this most goodly floure,
This[446] blossom of fressh coloure,
