text: Cherry-lipt Adonis in his snowie shape,
      Might not compare with his pure ivorie white,
      On whose faire front a poets pen may write,
  Whose roseate red excels the crimson grape,
  His love-enticing delicate soft limbs,
      Are rarely framd tintrap poore gazine eies:
      His cheeks, the lillie and carnation dies,
  With lovely tincture which Apollos dims.
  His lips ripe strawberries in nectar wet,
      His mouth a Hive, his tongue a hony-combe,
      Where Muses (like bees) make their mansion.
  His teeth pure pearle in blushing correll set.
      Oh how can such a body sinne-procuring,
      Be slow to love, and quicke to hate, enduring?