_An exhortation to the reader to come and see his mistress's beauty_ Eyes curious to behold what nature can create, Come see, come see, and write what wonder you do see, Causing by true report our next posterity Curse fortune for that they were born too late! Come then and come ye all, come soon lest that The time should be too short and men too few should be; For all be few to write her least part's history, Though they should ever write and never write but that. Millions look on her eyes, millions think on her wit, Millions speak of her, millions write of her hand. The whole eye on the lip I do not understand; Millions too few to praise but some one part of it, As either of her eye or lip or hand to write, The light or black, the taste or red, the soft or white. III _Of the excellency of his lady's voice_ Lady of ladies, the delight alone For which to heaven earth doth no envy bear; Seeing and hearing thee, we see and hear Such voice, such light, as never sung nor shone. The want of heaven I grant yet we may moan, Not for the pleasure of the angels there, As though in face or voice they like thee were, But that they many be, and thou but one. The basest notes which from thy voice proceed, The treble of the angels do exceed, So that I fear their choir to beautify, Lest thou to some in heaven shall sing and shine. Lo, when I hear thee sing, the reason why Sighs of my breast keep time with notes of thine! IV _Of her excellency both in singing and instruments_ Not that thy hand is soft, is sweet, is white, Thy lips sweet roses, breast sweet lily is, That love esteems these three the chiefest bliss Which nature ever made for lips' delight; But when these three to show their heavenly might Such wonders do, devotion then for this Commandeth us with humble zeal to kiss Such things as work miracles in our sight. A lute of senseless wood, by nature dumb, Touched by thy hand doth speak divinely well; And from thy lips and breast sweet tunes do come To my dead heart, the which new life do give. Of greater wonders heard we never tell Than for the dumb to speak, the dead to live. V _Of the envy others bear to his lady for the former perfections_