Rodope and Dorida

This Nimphall of delights doth treat,Choice beauties, and proportions neat,Of curious shapes, and dainty featuresDescribd in two most perfect creatures.

When Phoebus with a face of mirth,Had flong abroad his beames,To blanch the bosome of the earth,And glaze the gliding streames.Within a goodly Mertle groue,Vpon that hallowed dayThe Nimphes to the bright Queene of loueTheir vowes were vsde to pay.Faire Rodope and DoridaMet in those sacred shades,Then whom the Sunne in all his way,Nere saw two daintier Maids.And through the thickets thrild his fires,Supposing to haue seeneThe soueraigne Goddesse of desires,Or Ioves Emperious Queene:Both of so wondrous beauties were,In shape both so excell,That to be paraleld elsewhere,No iudging eye could tell.And their affections so surpasse,As well it might be deemd,That th' one of them the other was,And but themselues they seem'd.And whilst the Nimphes that neare this place,Disposed were to playAt Barly-breake and Prison-base,Doe passe the time away:This peerlesse payre together set,The other at their sport,None neare their free discourse to let,Each other thus they court,

Dorida. My sweet, my soueraigne Rodope,My deare delight, my loue,That Locke of hayre thou sentst to me,I to this Bracelet woue;Which brighter euery day doth growThe longer it is worne,As its delicious fellowes doe,Thy Temples that adorne.

Rodope. Nay had I thine my Dorida,I would them so bestow,As that the winde vpon my way,Might backward make them flow,So should it in its greatst excesseTurne to becalmed ayre,And quite forget all boistrousnesseTo play with euery hayre.

Dorida. To me like thine had nature giuen,A Brow, so Archt, so cleere,A Front, wherein so much of heauenDoth to each eye appeare,The world should see, I would strike deadThe Milky Way that's now,And say that Nectar Hebe shedFell all vpon my Brow.

Rodope. O had I eyes like Doridaes,I would inchant the dayAnd make the Sunne to stand at gaze,Till he forget his way:And cause his Sister Queene of Streames,When so I list by night;By her much blushing at my BeamesT' eclipse her borrowed light.

Dorida. Had I a Cheeke like Rodopes,In midst of which doth stand,A Groue of Roses, such as these,In such a snowy land:I would then make the Lilly which we nowSo much for whitenesse name,As drooping downe the head to bow,And die for very shame.

Rodope. Had I a bosome like to thine,When I it pleas'd to show,T' what part o' th' Skie I would inclineI would make th' Etheriall bowe,My swannish breast brancht all with blew,In brauery like the spring:In Winter to the generall viewFull Summer forth should bring.

Dorida. Had I a body like my deare,Were I so straight so tall,O, if so broad my shoulders were,Had I a waste so small;I would challenge the proud Queene of loueTo yeeld to me for shape,And I should feare that Mars or IoveWould venter for my rape.

Rodope. Had I a hand like thee my Gerle,(This hand O let me kisse)These Ivory Arrowes pyl'd with pearle,Had I a hand like this;I would not doubt at all to make,Each finger of my handTo taske swift Mercury to takeWith his inchanting wand.

Dorida. Had I a Theigh like Rodopes;Which twas my chance to viewe,When lying on yon banck at ease,The wind thy skirt vp blew,I would say it were a columne wroughtTo some intent Diuine,And for our chaste Diana sought,A pillar for her shryne.

Rodope. Had I a Leg but like to thineThat were so neat, so cleane,A swelling Calfe, a Small so fine,An Ankle, round and leane,I would tell nature she doth misseHer old skill; and maintaine,She shewd her master peece in this,Not to be done againe.

Dorida. Had I that Foot hid in those shoos,(Proportion'd to my height)Short Heele, thin Instep, euen Toes,A Sole so wondrous straight,The Forresters and Nimphes at thisAmazed all should stand,And kneeling downe, should meekely kisseThe Print left in the sand.

By this the Nimphes came from their sport,All pleased wondrous well,And to these Maydens make reportWhat lately them befell:One said the dainty LelipaDid all the rest out-goe,Another would a wager layShe would outstrip a Roe;Sayes one, how like you FlorimelThere is your dainty face:A fourth replide, she lik't that well,Yet better lik't her grace,She's counted, I confesse, quoth she,To be our onely Pearle,Yet haue I heard her oft to beA melancholy Gerle.Another said she quite mistoke,That onely was her art,When melancholly had her lookeThen mirth was in her heart;And hath she then that pretty trickAnother doth reply,I thought no Nimph could haue bin sickOf that disease but I;I know you can dissemble wellQuoth one to giue you due,But here be some (who Ile not tell)Can do't as well as you,Who thus replies, I know that too,We haue it from our Mother,Yet there be some this thing can doeMore cunningly then other:If Maydens but dissemble canTheir sorrow and ther ioy,Their pore dissimulation than,Is but a very toy.