Of a Wrought Carpet, Presented to the View of Working Ladies

The spring doth spin fine grass-green silk, of which
Was woven1 a carpet, like the Persian, rich,
And all about the borders, there were2 spread
Clusters of grapes, mixed green, blue, white, and red,
And in the midst the gods in sundry shapes                                  5
Were3 curious wrought, divulging all their rapes,
And all the ground was strewed with flowers so;4
As if by Nature set, they there did grow.5
Those figures all like sculptures did6 bear out;
Whether they lay on flat many did7 doubt.                                  10
There light and dark all intermixed were8 laid
For shady groves, where priests9 devoutly prayed.
The fruits so hung10 as did invite the taste;
Small birds with picking seemed11 to make a waste.
The ground was wrought like threads drawn from the sun,    15
Which shined so blazing as12 a fired gun.
This piece the pattern is of artful skill;
Art th’imitator13 is of Nature still.

A Man to his Mistress

O do not grieve, dear heart, nor shed a tear,
Since in your eyes my life doth still keep there,1
And in your countenance my death I find;
I’m2 buried in your melancholy mind.
But in your smiles I’m glorified to rise,                        5
And your pure love doth3 me eternalize;
Thus by your favor you a god me make,4
And5 by your hate a devil’s shape I take.6