A peerless Paragon, OR▪ 
Few so chaste, so beauteous or so fair,  
for with my love I think none can compare.   
To the tune of the mother beguiled the daughter.  
 

IN times of yore, sure men did dote,  
and beauty never knew:  
Else women were not of that note,  
as daily come to view.  
For read of all the faces then  
that did most brightly shine,  
Be judged by all true judging men,  
they were not like to mine.   

King Priam loved Hecuba,  
and thought her wondrous fair,  
But had he seen mine, I dare say  
there had been no compare.  
Stout Hector held Andromicha  
a stately beauteous Queen,  
But she's, no Troilus Cressida,  
yet fair as ere was seen.   

Nay all the faces jupiter  
did like and fancy most,  
Are to her substance shadows mere  
of whom I make my boast:  
Surely you wonder what she is,  
whose beauty I proclaim,  
I'll tell you truly, and not miss  
though she be without name.   
 

My love she is the Non-pareil  
of all that ere was seen,  
And had not Venus come i'th' way  
she had been beauties Queen:  
Her comely feature, lovely looks,  
I will describe at large,  
God Cupid puts her in his books,  
and of this gem takes charge.   

The Grecian Helen was a Moor,  
compared with my dear Saint,  
The fair faced Hyren's beauty poor,  
and yet she does not paint,  
Andromeda whom Perseus loved,  
was blacker than the night,  
Her lineaments so well approved  
in praise of them i'll write.   

Queen Vesta for her chastity  
with her may not compare,  
Nor Lucrece for her honesty,  
she's like the Phoenix rare:  
A Summer's day, I could commend  
her parts were't ne'er so long,  
But yet her parts so far extend,  
I fear to do her wrong.   

The second part, To the same tune.  
 

BUt yet my tongue cannot refrain  
to set her praises forth;  
Then list, and i'll describe her plain  
and show you her true worth:  
Her hair not like the golden wire  
but black as any Crow;  
Her beetle brows, all men admire,  
her forehead wondrous low.   

Her squinting, staring, goggle eyes  
poor children do affright,  
Her nose is of the Saracens size,  
oh she's a matchless wight.  
Her ears so hound like, that they fall  
upon her shoulder bone,  
I know not truly how to call  
her, she's such a worthy one.   

Her oven mouth, wide open stands,  
her teeth like rotten pease;  
Her blabber lips my heart commands,  
her neck all bit with fleas:  
Her tawny duggs like two great hills,  
hang Sow-like to her waist,  
Her body's round as a wind mill,  
and yet I hold her chaste.   

Her belly tunlike to behold,  
no more shall be expressed,  
But if the truth were plainly told,  
I'm sure they are the best:  
Her brawny blind cheeks plump and round  
as any Horse of war,  
 
Her speckled thighs they are not sound  
her knees like hogs heads are.   

Her legs are like the Elephants,  
the calf and small all one,  
Her ankles they together meet,  
and still knock bone to bone;  
Her pretty foot not 'boue th'eighteens  
so splaid as never was,  
An excellent usher for a man  
that walks the dewy grass.   

Her shoulders are so Camel-like,  
shéeed make an excellent Porter,  
I vow I never knew her like.  
if any man consort her.  
No shoulder of mutton like her hand  
for thickness, breadth, and fat,  
With a scurvy mange upon her wrist,  
oh jove how I love that.   

Thus have you heard my Love set forth  
and yet no flattery used,  
Your judgement, is she not of worth,  
let her not be abused,  
If any to her have a mind,  
he wrongs me many ways;  
For as she's beauteous, so she's kind,  
and here conclude my praise.   
FINIS.    

Printed at London for Thomas Lambert.