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Poem	Hide not that sprouting lipp, nor kill The juicy bloome with bashfull skill: Know it is an amorous dewe That swells to court thy corall hewe, And what a blemish you esteeme To other eyes a pearle may seeme Whose watery growth is not above The thrifty seize that pearles doe love, And doth so well become that part That chance may seeme a secret art. Doth any judge that face lesse fayre Whose tender silke a mole doth beare? Or will a diamond shine less cleare If in the midst a soil appeare? Or else that eye a finer nett Whose glasse is ring'd about with jett? Or is an apple thought more sweete When hony specks and redde doe meete? Then is the lipp made fayrer by Such sweetness of deformitie. The nectar which men strive to sipp Springs like a well upon your lipp, Nor doth it shew immodesty, But overflowing chastity. O who will blame the fruitfull trees When too much sapp and gumme hee sees? Here nature from her store doth send Only what other parts can lend; The budde of love which here doth growe Were too too sweete if pluckt belowe; When lovely buddes ascend so high The roote belowe cannot be drye.
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