Two Bookes of Ayres:
The Second Booke. VII.
by Thomas Campion.
Giue beauty all her right,
Shee's not to one forme tyed ;
Each shape yeelds faire delight,
Where her perfections 'bide. Hellen, I grant, might pleasing be ;
And Ros'mond was as sweet as shee.
Some the quicke eye commends ;
Some swelling lips and red ;
Pale lookes haue many friends,
Through sacred sweetnesse bred.
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Medowes haue flowers that pleasure moue,
Though Roses are the flowres of loue.
Free beauty is not bound
To one vnmoued clime :
She visits eu'ry ground,
And fauours eu'ry time.
Let the old loues with mine compare,
My sou'raigne is as sweet, and fayre.