XIV.

Retourne agayne, my forces late dismayd,
Unto the siege by you abandon’d quite. 
Great shame it is to leave, like one afrayd,
So fayre a peece* for one repulse so light. 
’Gaynst such strong castles needeth greater might
Then those small forts which ye were wont belay**: 
Such haughty mynds, enur’d to hardy fight,
Disdayne to yield unto the first assay. 
Bring therefore all the forces that ye may,
And lay incessant battery to her heart;
Playnts, prayers, vowes, ruth, sorrow, and dismay;
Those engins can the proudest love convert: 
   And, if those fayle, fall down and dy before her;
   So dying live, and living do adore her.
[l Peece, fortress.]
[** Belay, beleaguer.]

XV.

Ye tradefull Merchants, that, with weary toyle,
Do seeke most pretious things to make your gain,
And both the Indias of their treasure spoile,
What needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine? 
For loe, my Love doth in her selfe containe
All this worlds riches that may farre be found: 
If saphyres, loe, her eies be saphyres plaine;
If rubies, loe, hir lips be rubies sound;
If pearles, hir teeth be pearles, both pure and round;
If yvorie, her forhead yvory weene;
If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;
If silver, her faire hands are silver sheene: 
   But that which fairest is but few behold:—­
   Her mind adornd with vertues manifold.

XVI.

One day as I unwarily did gaze
On those fayre eyes, my loves immortall light,
The whiles my stonisht hart stood in amaze,
Through sweet illusion of her lookes delight,
I mote perceive how, in her glauncing sight,
Legions of Loves with little wings did fly,
Darting their deadly arrows, fyry bright,
At every rash beholder passing by. 
One of those archers closely I did spy,
Ayming his arrow at my very hart: 
When suddenly, with twincle of her eye,
The damzell broke his misintended dart. 
   Had she not so doon, sure I had bene slayne;
   Yet as it was, I hardly scap’t with paine.

XVII.

The glorious pourtraict of that angels face,
Made to amaze weake mens confused skil,
And this worlds worthlesse glory to embase,
What pen, what pencil!, can expresse her fill? 
For though he colours could devize at will,
And eke his learned hand at pleasure guide,
Least, trembling, it his workmanship should spill*,
Yet many wondrous things there are beside: 
The sweet eye-glaunces, that like arrowes glide,
The charming smiles, that rob sence from the hart,
The lovely pleasance, and the lofty pride,
Cannot expressed be by any art. 
  A greater craftesmans hand thereto doth neede,
  That can expresse the life of things indeed.
[l Spill, spoil.]