Obserue a better course then humane men, How sauage were we then offending so, Committing that vvhich vve offence doe know? O were my tongue a second _Orpheus_ Harpe, That to my loue I might allure thy heart! Or vvere thy loue but equall vnto mine, Then vvould thou seeke his fauor vvho seeks thine! Me thinkes vnkindnesse cannot come from thence, VVhere beauty raignes vvith such magnificence, I meane from thee, vvhom nature hath endow'd VVith more then Art would vvillingly allow'd: And though by nature you are borne most faire, Yet Art would adde a beautie to your share: But it being spotlesse doth disdaine receipt Of all vnpolish'd painting counterfeit. Your beautie is a snare vnto our wayes, VVherein once caught, wee cannot brooke delayes; VVhich makes vs oft through griefe of minde grow sad, Griefe follows grief, then malecontent & mad. Thus by deniall doe you cause our woe, And then doe triumph in our ouer-throw. What is it to be fayre? onely a vanitie, A fading blossome of no perpetuitie. Consider this: for beautie is a flower, Subiect to ill occasions euery hower; It is a tenure holden as wee see _Durante Dei placito_, not in fee. Measure my Loue then, proue it by a tryall: Let me not languish still by your deniall. If in my suite I erre, as by mischance, Blame not my Loue but count it ignorance. The tongue is but an instrument of nought, And cannot speake the largenesse of the thought: For when the minde abounds, and almost breaketh, Then through abundance of the heart it speaketh: No man can speake but what he hath in minde, Then what I speake I thinke; be not vnkinde Vnto your seruant, who obedience proffers, And makes firme loue the obiect of his offers. I will not boast of Parentage, or Lyne, For all are base, respecting thee diuine: Nor will I boast of wealth, or riches store, For in thy face consists all wealth, and more. Pure are my thoughts as skin betweene thy browes, And eke as chaste my speech, my oathes, & vowes. Speake sweetest fayre, but one kinde word to me, How can alas that be offence in thee? There was a Dame a moderne Poet sung, _Hero_ by name, like thee, both faire and young: And both so faire, that you did others passe As farre as rarest Dyamonds common glasse. VVhom young _Leander_ courted on a greene, A Maide so faire (but thee) was neuer seene. She granted loue, which he (alas) to gaine, To reape those ioyes, did crosse the brinish Maine. My loue to thee, I now compare to his; Accounting danger, so requited, blisse. There are no Seas to separate our ioy, No future danger can our Loue annoy: Then grant to me what she denide not him; If good in her, in thee it is no sinne. The Sunne hath shin'd thus long, o let not now The Sunne be darkened by thine angry brow. But rather let each looke a Comet be That may presage my happy destinie. I could to you a short discourse impart,