In prayse of Bridges, nowe Lady Sandes
In Court who so demaundes what Dame doth most excell,
For my conceyt I must needes say, faire Bridges beares ye bell:
Upon whose lively cheeke, to proove my judgement true,
The Rose and Lillie seeme to strive for equall change of hewe:
And therewithall so well her graces all agree,
No frowning cheere dare once presume in hir sweete face to bee.
Although some lavishe lippes, which like some other best,
Wyll saye the blemishe on hir browe disgraceth all the rest.
Thereto I thus replie, God wotte they lisle know,
The hidden cause of that mishap, nor how the harme dyd grow.
For when Dame nature first had framde hir heavenly face,
And thoroughly bedecked it, with goodly gleames of grace:
It lyked hir so well: Lo here (quod shee) a peece,
For perfect shape that passeth all Apelles worke in Greece.
This bayte may chaunce to catche the greatest God of love,
Or mighty thundring Jove himself that rules the roast above.
But out, alas, those wordes were vaunted all in vaine,
And some unsene were present there (poore Bridges) to thy pain.
For Cupide craftie boye, close in a corner stoode,
Not blyndfold then, to gaze on hir, I gesse it dyd him good.
Yet when he felt the flame gan kindle in his brest,
And hard dame nature boast by hir, to breake him of his rest,
His hote newe chosen love, he chaunged into hate,
And sodainly with mighty mace, gan rap hir on the pate.
It grieved Nature much to see the quell deede:
Me seemes I see hir how she wept, to see hir dearling blede.
Well yet (quod she) this hurt shall have some helpe I trowe,
And quicke with skin she covered it, that whiter is than snowe.
Wherewith Dan Cupid fled, for feare of further flame,
When angel like he saw hir shine, whom he had smit with shame.
Lo thus was Bridges hurt, in cradel of hir kind,
The coward Cupid brake hir brow, to wreke his wounded mind,
The skar styll there remaines, no force, there let it be,
There is no clowde that can eclipse, so bright a sunne as she.
(3 votes, average: 4,33 out of 5)