Nymph of the garden where all beauties be,
Beauties which do in excellencie passe,
His who till death lockt in a watry glasse,
Or hirs whom nak’d the Trojan boy did see.
Sweete garden Nymph that keepes the Cherrie tree,
Whose fruit doth far the Hesperian tast surpasse,
Most sweete faire, most faire sweete, do not alasse
From comming neere these Cherries banish mee,
For though full of desire, emptie of wit,
Admitted late by your best graced grace,
I caught at one of them an hungry bit,
Pardon that fault, once more graunt me the place,
And so I sweare even by the same delite,
I will but kisse, I never more will bite.