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Ben Jonson - The Triumph Of Charis
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See the chariot at hand here of Love,
      Wherein my lady rideth!
   Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
      And well the car Love guideth.
   As she goes, all hearts do duty
         Unto her beauty;
   And, enamoured, do wish, so they might
         But enjoy such a sight,
   That they still were to run by her side,
Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

   Do but look on her eyes, they do light
      All that Love`s world compriseth!
   Do but look on her hair, it is bright
      As Love`s star when it riseth!
   Do but mark, her forehead`s smoother
         Than words that soothe her!
   And from her arched brows, such a grace
         Sheds itself through the face,
   As alone there triumphs to the life
All the gain, all the good, of the elements` strife.

   Have you seen but a bright lily grow
      Before rude hands have touched it?
   Have you marked but the fall o` the snow
      Before the soil hath smutched it?
   Have you felt the wool of beaver?
         Or swan`s down ever?
   Or have smelt o` the bud o` the brier?
         Or the nard in the fire?
   Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
O so white!  O so soft!  O so sweet is she!
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