When shee lookes out by night, The Starres stand gazing, Like Commets to our sight Fearefully blazing, 270 As wondring at her eyes With their much brightnesse, Which to amaze the skies, Dimming their lightnesse, The raging Tempests are Calme, When shee speaketh, Such most delightsome balme From her lips breaketh. Cho. _On thy Banke, In a Rancke_, &c. 280 In all our _Brittany_, Ther's not a fayrer, Nor can you fitt any: Should you compare her. Angels her eye-lids keepe All harts surprizing, Which looke whilst she doth sleepe Like the Sunnes rising: She alone of her kinde Knoweth true measure 290 And her vnmatched mind Is Heauens treasure: Cho. _On thy Bancke, In a Rancke Let thy Swanes sing her, And with their Musick, Along let them bring her._ Fayre _Doue_ and _Darwine_ cleere Boast yee your beauties, To _Trent_ your Mistres here 300 Yet pay your duties, My Loue was higher borne Tow'rds the full Fountaines, Yet she doth _Moorland_ scorne, And the _Peake_ Mountaines; Nor would she none should dreame, Where she abideth, Humble as is the streame, Which by her slydeth, Cho. _On thy Bancke, 310 In a Rancke, Let thy Swannes sing her, And with their Musicke, Along let them bring her._ Yet my poore Rusticke _Muse_, Nothing can moue her, Nor the means I can vse, Though her true Louer: Many a long Winters night, Haue I wak'd for her, 320 Yet this my piteous plight, Nothing can stirre her. All thy Sands siluer _Trent_ Downe to the _Humber_, The sighes I haue spent Neuer can number. Cho. _On thy Banke In a Ranke, Let thy Swans sing her And with their Musicke 330 Along let them bring her._