I am inchanted with thy snow-white hands,
That mase me with their quaint dexteritie,
And with their touch, tye in a thousand bands
My yeelding heart euer to honour thee:
Thought of thy daintie fingers long and small,
For pretie action that exceed compare,
Sufficient is to blesse me, and withall
To free my chained thoughts from sorrowes snare:
But that which crownes my soule with heauenly blis,
And giues my heart fruition of all ioyes,
Their daintie concord and sweet musick is,
That poysons griefe and cureth all annoyes,
Those eyes that see, those eares are blest that heare
These heauenly gifts of nature in my deare.