Wither has chosen to bestow upon the lady whom he commends, the name of Arete, or Virtue; and, assuming to himself the character of Philarete, or Lover of Virtue, there is a sort of propriety in that heaped measure of perfections, which he attributes to this partly real, partly allegorical, personage. Drayton before him had shadowed his mistress under the name of Idea, or Perfect Pattern, and some of the old Italian love-strains are couched in such religious terms as to make it doubtful, whether it be a mistress, or Divine Grace, which the poet is addressing. In this poem (full of beauties) there are two passages of pre-eminent merit. The first is where the lover, after a flight of rapturous commendation, expresses his wonder why all men that are about his mistress, even to her very servants, do not view her with the same eyes that he does. Sometime I do admire, All men burn not with desire; Nay I muse her servants are not Pleading love; but O! they dare not. And I therefore wonder, why They do not grow sick and die. Sure they would do so, but that, By the ordinance of fate, There is some concealed thing So each gazer limiting, He can see no more of merit Than beseems his worth and spirit, For in her a grace there shines, That o'er-daring thoughts confines; Making worthless men despair To be lov'd of one so fair. Yea the destinies agree, Some _good judgments_ blind should be, And not gain the power of knowing Those rare beauties in her growing. Reason doth as much imply: For if every judging eye, Which beholdeth her, should there Find what excellencies are; All, o'ercome by those perfections, Would be captive to affections. So in happiness unblest, She for lovers should not rest. The other is, where he has been comparing her beauties to gold, and stars, and the most excellent things in nature; and, fearing to be accused of hyperbole, the common charge against poets, vindicates himself by boldly taking upon him, that these comparisons are no hyperboles; but that the best things in nature do, in a lover's eye, fall short of those excellencies which he adores in her. What pearls, what rubies can Seem so lovely fair to man, As her lips whom he doth love, When in sweet discourse they move, Or her lovelier teeth, the while She doth bless him with a smile? Stars indeed fair creatures be; Yet amongst us where is he Joys not more the whilst he lies Sunning in his mistress' eyes. Than in all the glimmering light Of a starry winter's night? Note the beauty of an eye-- And if aught you praise it by Leave such passion in your mind, Let my reason's eye be blind. Mark if ever red or white Any where gave such delight, As when they have taken place In a worthy woman's face. * * * * *