Within my hart, though hardly it can shew Thing so divine to vew of earthly eye, The fayre idea of your celestiall hew

right Of line, or lead, or rule, or squaire, to measure Her length, her breadth, her deepnes, or her hight; But him behooves to vew in compasse round All that the ocean graspes in his long armes; Be it where the yerely starre doth scortch the ground, Or where colde Boreas blowes his bitter stormes.