Philoclea and Pamela sweet, By ce, in one great house did meet; Aing, did so join i, That th one from th other could not part: And who indeed (not made of stones) Would separate such lovely ohe one is beautiful, and fair As orient pearls and rubies are; And sweet as, after gentle showers, The breath is of some thousand flowers: For due proportion, su air Circles the other, and so fair, That it her brownness beautifies, And doth ent the wisest eyes.
Have you not seen, on some great day, Two goodly horses, white and bay, Which were so beauteous in their pride, You knew not which to choose or ride? Such are these two; you scarce tell, Which is the daintier bonny belle; And they are such, as, by my troth, I had been sick with love of both, And might have sadly said, Good-night Discretion and good fortune quite; But that young Cupid, my old master, Presented me a sn plaster: Mopsa! evn Mopsa! (precious pet) Whose lips of marble, teeth of jet, Are spells and charms of strong defeo jure down cupisce.
How oft have I bee of sense, By gazing on their excellence, But meeting Mopsa in my way, And looking on her face of clay, Been healed, and cured, and made as sound, As though I neer had had a wound? And when in tables of my heart, Love wrought such things as bred my smart, Mopsa would e, with face of clout, And in an instant wipe them out.
And when their faces made me sick, Mopsa would e, with face of brick, A little heated in the fire, And break the ney desire. Now from their face I turn mine eyes, But (cruel panthers!) they surprise Me with their breath, that inse sweet, Whily for the gods is meet, And jointly from them doth respire, Like both the Indies set on fire: Which so oeres mans ravished sehat souls, to follow it, fly heno such-like smell you if ye To th Stocks, or hills square Exge; There stood I still as any stock, Till Mopsa, with her puddle dock, Her pound or electuary, Made of old ling and young ary, Bloat-herring, cheese, and voided physic, Being somewhat troubled with a phthisic, Did cough, ach a sigh so deep, As did her very bottom sweep: Whereby to all she did impart, How love lay rankling at her heart: Which, when I smelt, desire was slain, And they breathed forth perfumes in vain. Their angel voice surprised me now; But Mopsa, her Too-whit, Too-whoo, Desding through her oboe nose, Did that distemper soon pose.
And, therefore, O thou precious owl, The wise Minervas only fowl; What, at thy shrine, shall I devise To offer up a sacrifice? Hang AEsculapius, and Apollo, And Ovid, with his precious shallow. Mopsa is loves best medie, True water to a lovers wine. Nay, shes the yellow antidote, Both bred and born to cut Loves throat: Be but my sed, and stand by, Mopsa, and Ill them both defy; And all else of those gallant races, Who wear iion in their faces; For thy face (that Medusas shield!) Will bring me safe out of the field.