One of her hands one of her cheeks lay under, <br /> Cosening the pillow of a lawful kiss, <br /> Which therefore swell'd, and seem'd to part asunder, <br /> As angry to be robb'd of such a bliss! <br /> The one look'd pale and for revenge did long, <br /> While t'other blush'd, 'cause it had done the wrong. <br /> <br /> Out of the bed the other fair hand was <br /> On a green satin quilt, whose perfect white <br /> Look'd like a daisy in a field of grass, <br /> And show'd like unmelt snow unto the sight; <br /> There lay this pretty perdue, safe to keep <br /> The rest o' th' body that lay fast asleep. <br /> <br /> Her eyes (and therefore it was night), close laid <br /> Strove to imprison beauty till the morn: <br /> But yet the doors were of such fine stuff made, <br /> That it broke through, and show'd itself in scorn, <br /> Throwing a kind of light about the place, <br /> Which turn'd to smiles still, as't came near her face. <br /> <br /> Her beams, which some dull men call'd hair, divided, <br /> Part with her cheeks, part with her lips did sport. <br /> But these, as rude, her breath put by still; some <br /> Wiselier downwards sought, but falling short, <br /> Curled back in rings, and seemed to turn again <br /> To bite the part so unkindly held them in.<br /><br />Sir John Suckling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-supplement-of-an-imperfect-copy-of-verses-of-m/
