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| Elegie. |
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| As the sweet sweat of Roses in a Still, |
| As that which frō chaf'd muskats pores doth trill, |
| As the Almighty Balme of th'early East, |
| Such are the sweat drops of my Mistris breast. |
| And on her necke her skin such lustre sets, |
| They seeme no sweat drops, but pearle coronets. |
| Ranke sweaty froth thy Mistresse's brow defiles, |
| Like spermatique issue of ripe menstruous boiles. |
| Or like the skumme, which, by needs lawlesse law |
| Enforc'd, Sanserra's starved men did draw |
| From parboild shooes, and bootes, and all the rest |
| Which were with any soveraigne fatnes blest, |
| And like vile stones lying in saffrond tinne, |
| Or warts, or wheales, it hangs upon her skinne. |
| Round as the world's her head, on every side, |
| Like to the fatall Ball which fell on Ide, |
| Or that whereof God had such jealousie, |
| As, for the ravishing thereof we die. |
| Thy head is like a rough-hewne statue of jeat, |
| Where marks for eyes, nose, mouth, are yet scarce set; |
| Like the first Chaos, or flat seeming face |
| Of Cynthia, when th'earths shadowes her embrace. |
| Like Proserpines white beauty-keeping chest, |
| Or Joues best fortunes urne, is her faire brest. |
| Thine's like worme eaten trunkes, cloth'd in seals skin, |
| Or grave, that's dust without, and stinke within. |
| And like that slender stalke, at whose end stands
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[CW: The] |