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Made out of a wild thought， is in my marrow1.
Theres no man may look upon her， no man，
As when newly grown to be a woman，
Tall and noble but with face and bosom2
Delicate in colour as apple blossom.
This beautys kinder， yet for a reason
I could weep that the old is out of season
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X His Wildness O bid me mount and sail up there Amid the cloudy wrack1， For Peg2 and Meg and Paris love That had so stra
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Tact1 Observant of the way she told So much of what was true, No vanity could long withhold2 Regard that was her due： Sh
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