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beauty subject of my song I make,

O fairest fair, on whom depends my life!

Refuse not then the task I undertake,

To please thy rage and to appease my strife;

But with one smile remunerate my toil,

None other guerdon I of thee desire.

Give not my lowly muse new-hatched the foil,

But warmth that she may at the length aspire

Unto the temples of thy star-bright eyes,

Upon whose round orbs perfect beauty sits,

From whence such glorious crystal beams arise,

As best my Chloris' seemly face befits;

Which eyes, which beauty, which bright crystal beam,

Which face of thine hath made my love extreme.