In praise of a gentlewoman
who though she were
not verye fayre, yet was she as harde
favoured as might be.
IF men may credite give, to true reported fames,
Who doubtes but stately Rome had stoore of lustye loving Dames?
Whose eares have bene so deafe, as never yet heard tell,
Howe far the freshe Pompeia, for beautie dyd excel.
And golden Marcus he, that swaide the Romaine sword,
Bare witnesse of Boemia, by credite of his word.
What neede I mo rehearse? since all the world dyd know,
How high the floods of beauties blaze, within those walles dyd flowe.
And yet in all that choyse a worthy Romaine Knight,
Antonius who conquered prowde Egipt by his might,
Not al to please his eye, but most to ease his minde,
Chose Cleopatra for his love, and left the rest behind.
A wondrous thing to reade, in all his victorye,
He snapt but hir for his owne share, to please his fantasie.
She was not fayre God wot, the countreye breades none bright,
Well maye we judge hir skinne the foyle, because hyr teeth were white.
Percase hyr lovelye lookes, some prayses dyd deserve,
But browne I dare be bolde shee was, for so the soyle dyd serve.
And could Antonius forsake the fayre in Rome?
To love his nutbrowne Ladye best, was this an equall doome?
I dare well say dames there, did beare him deadly grudge,
His sentence had beene shortly sayde, if Faustine had bene judge.
For this I dare avow, (without vaunt be it spoke)
So brave a knight as Anthony, held al their necks in yoke:
I leave not Lucrece out, beleeve in hir who lyst,
I thinke she would have lik’d his lure, & stooped to his fist.
What mov’d the chieftain then, to lincke his liking thus?
I would some Romaine dame were here, the question to discusse.
But [I that] read her life, do finde therein by fame,
Howe cleare hir curtesie dyd shine, in honour of hir name.
Hir bountie did excell, hir trueth had never pere,
Hir lovely lokes, hir pleasant speech, hir lusty loving chere.
And all the worthy giftes, that ever yet were found,
Within this good Egiptian Queene, dyd seeme for to abound.
Wherefore he worthy was, to win the golden fleece,
Which scored the blasing starres in Rome, to conquere such a peece.
And shee to quite his love, in spite of dreadfull death,
Enshrinde with Snakes within his Tombe, did yeeld hir parting breath.
Allegoria.
If fortune favord him, then may that man rejoyce,
And thinke himself a happy man by hap of happy choice.
Who loves and is belov’d of one as good, as true,
As kind as Cleopatra was, and yet more bright of hewe.
Hir eyes as greye as glasse, hir teeth as white as mylke,
A ruddy lippe, a dimpled chyn, a skyn as smoth as silke.
A wight what could you more, that may content mannes minde,
And hath supplies for ev’ry want, that any man can finde.
And may him selfe assure, when hence his life shall passe,
She wil be stong to death with snakes, as Cleopatra was.
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