My Mistris is as faire as fine, milk-white fingers, Cherry nose, like twinkling day-starres looks her eyne, lightning all things where she goes, Faire as Phœebe though not so sickle: smooth as glasse though not so brickle. My heart is like a Ball of Snowe, melting at her luke-warme sight: Her fiery Lips like Night-worms glowe shining cleere as Candle-light. Neat she is, no Feather lighter: Bright she is, no Dazie whiter.
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