No. 4. IF ALMOST ANY ELIZABETHAN HAD WRITTEN “SHE DWELT AMONG THE UNTRODDEN WAYS”

Ask me not for the semblance of my loue. Amidst the fountains of the christal Doue Like to that fayre Aurora did she runne, Who treads the beanies of the sweete morning sunne. Forth from her head her hayres like golden wyre Did spring; her amorous eyes were lampes of fire, Bright as that torch their heauenly raies did mount Wherewith fayre Hero lit the Hellespont, Or as that flame which on the desert lies When new-borne Phenix soareth to the skies. Like wanton darts her eye-beames she did throw From out her noble forehead’s iuorie bow Whose Beauties great perfection would withstand The skill of the most cunning painter’s hand. Her virgin nose like Dians self did raigne Amidst her vermell cheekes’ ambrosiall plaine; Her busie lips twinne Rubies did appeare From which her Voyce did come as Diamonds cleare; Venus’ owne sonne would sigh to look beneath At the straight pearlie pleasaunce of her teethe. Like to fayre starres, or rather, like the sunne Was her smooth Marble chinne’s pavilion, Wherefrom her slender necke the eye did lead To shoulders like twinne Lilies on a mead, Whiter than Ledaes fethers or white milke, As sweete as nectar and as softe as silke. O, and her tender brests, they were as white As snowie hills which Phebus’ beames doe smite Engirt with azure and with Saphire veines....