Thomas Watson (1555–1592)

I SAW the object of my pining thought

Within a garden of sweet Nature’s placing:

Wherein an arbour artificial wrought,

By workman’s wondrous skill the garden gracing,

Did boast his glory, glory far renownèd,

For in his shady boughs my mistress slept:

And with a garland of his branches crownèd,

Her dainty forehead from the sun ykept.

Imperious love upon her eyelids tending,

Playing his wanton sports at every beck,

And into every finest limb descending,

From eyes to lips, from lips to ivory neck;

And every limb supplied, and t’every part

Had free accèss, but durst not touch her heart.