Having, in the greener times of my youth, composed these former two Hymnes in the praise of love and beautie, and finding that the same too much pleased those of like age and disposition, which, being too vehemently carried with that kind of affection, do rather sucke out poyson to their strong passion, then honey to their honest delight, I was moved, by the one of you two most excellent Ladies, to call in the same; but being unable so to do, by reason that many copies thereof were formerly scattered abroad, I resolved at least to amend, and, by way of retraction, to reforme them, making (instead of those two Hymnes of earthly or naturall love and beautie) two others of heavenly and celestiall; the which I doe dedicate ioyntly unto you two honorable sisters, as to the most excellent and rare ornaments of all true love and beautie, both in the one and the other kind; humbly beseeching you to vouchsafe the patronage of them, and to accept this my humble service, in lieu of the great graces and honourable favours which ye dayly shew unto me, until such time as I may, by better meanes, yeeld you some more notable testimonie of my thankfull mind and dutifull devotion. And even so I pray for your happinesse. Greenwich, this first of September, 1596. Your Honors most bounden ever, In all humble service, ED. SP. [* The Countess of Warwick’s name was Anne, not Mary. TODD.] AN HYMNE IN HONOUR OF LOVE. Love, that long since hast to thy mighty powre Perforce subdude my poor captived hart, And raging now therein with restlesse stowre*, Doest tyrannize in everie weaker part, Faine would I seeke to ease my bitter smart 5 By any service I might do to thee, Or ought that else might to thee pleasing bee. [* _Stowre_, commotion.] And now t’asswage the force of this new flame, And make thee more propitious in my need, I meane to sing the praises of thy name, 10 And thy victorious conquests to areed*, By which thou madest many harts to bleed Of mighty victors, with wide wounds embrewed, And by thy cruell darts to thee subdewed. [* _Areed_, set forth.] Onely I fear my wits, enfeebled late 15 Through the sharp sorrowes which thou hast me bred, Should faint, and words should faile me to relate The wondrous triumphs of thy great god-hed: But, if thou wouldst vouchsafe to overspred Me with the shadow of thy gentle wing, 20 I should enabled be thy actes to sing. Come, then, O come, thou mightie God of Love! Out of thy silver bowres and secret blisse, Where thou dost sit in Venus lap above, Bathing thy wings in her ambrosial kisse, 25 That sweeter farre than any nectar is, Come softly, and my feeble breast inspire With gentle furie, kindled of thy fire.