He of Her

Have you seene but a bright Lille grow,

Before rude hands have touch'd it?

Have you mark'd but the fal o' the Snow

Before the soyle hath smutchid it?

Have you felt the wool o' the Bever?

Or Swans Downe ever?

Or have smelt o' the bud o' the Briar?

Or the Nard in the fire?

Or have tasted the bag o' the Bee?

O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!