Whenas my love lay sickly in her bed, Pale death did post in hope to have a prey; But she so spotless made him that he fled; "Unmeet to die," she cried, and could not stay. Back he retired, and thus the heavens he told; "All things that are, are subject unto me, Both towns, and men, and what the world doth hold; But her fair Licia still immortal be." The heavens did grant; a goddess she was made, Immortal, fair, unfit to suffer change. So now she lives, and never more shall fade; In earth a goddess, what can be more strange? Then will I hope, a goddess and so near, She cannot choose my sighs and prayers but hear. XXV Seven are the lights that wander in the skies, And at these seven, I wonder in my love. So see the moon, how pale she doth arise, Standing amazed, as though she durst not move; So is my sweet much paler than the snow, Constant her looks, these looks that cannot change. Mercury the next, a god sweet-tongued we know, But her sweet voice doth wonders speak more strange. The rising Sun doth boast him of his pride, And yet my love is far more fair than he. The warlike Mars can wieldless weapons guide, But yet that god is far more weak than she. The lovely Venus seemeth to be fair, But at her best my love is far more bright. Saturn for age with groans doth dim the air, Whereas my love with smiles doth give it light. Gaze at her brows, where heaven ingrafted is; Then sigh, and swear, there is no heaven but this. XXVI I live, sweet love, whereas the gentle wind Murmurs with sport in midst of thickest boughs, Where loving woodbine doth the harbor bind, And chirping birds do echo forth my vows; Where strongest elm can scarce support the vine, And sweetest flowers enameled have the ground; Where Muses dwell; and yet hereat repine That on the earth so rare a place was found. But winds delight, I wish to be content; I praise the woodbine, but I take no joy; I moan the birds that music thus have spent; As for the rest, they breed but mine annoy. Live then, fair Licia, in this place alone; Then shall I joy though all of these were gone. XXVII The crystal stream wherein my love did swim, Melted in tears as partners of my woe; Her shine was such as did the fountain dim, The pearl-like fountain whiter than the snow; Then like perfume, resolved with a heat, The fountain smoked, as if it thought to burn; A wonder strange to see the cold so great, And yet the fountain into smoke to turn. I searched the cause, and found it to be this: She touched the water, and it burned with love. Now by her means it purchased hath that bliss, Which all diseases quickly can remove. Then if by you these streams thus blessed be, Sweet, grant me love, and be not worse to me. XXVIII