Cherry-lipped Adonis in his snowy shape, 
Might not compare with his pure ivory white, 
On whose fair front a poet's pen might write, 
Whose rosiate red excels the crimson grape. 
His love-enticing delicate soft limbs, 
Are rarely framed t' intrap poor gazing eyes; 
His cheeks, the lily and carnation dyes, 
With lovely tincture which Apollo's dims. 
His lips ripe strawberries in nectar wet, 
His mouth a hive, his tongue a honeycomb, 
Where muses (like bees) make their mansion. 
His teeth pure pearl in blushing coral set. 
Oh how can such a body sin-procuring, 
Be slow to love, and quick to hate, enduring?