Rich is the Diamond, a jemme of prise,
Yet such the nature strange is of the same,
That who the powder thereof drinkes, straight dies,
And (as if poyson twere) doth take his bane:
So thou another precious jewell art,
In name and nature not unmuch alike,
Since death thou giv'st unto the loving hart;
If but a kisse one suckes from thee most sweete,
Whilst he doth swallow downe this sugred baite,
The joy's so great, it kills him through concaite.

Of constant Love I am the wasted fire,
The furious winde's my Ladies angrie eye,
Who whilst she kindles both through wrathfull ire,
The flame encreaseth, mounting to the skye.
In midst is Love, halfe dead of greevous paine,
And (doubtfull) wyndes about like sparkling flame.
He feares the heate, and trembles, being turnd
Unto this blast, which still more sharpe doth rise;
Nor is his feare in vaine, when so he is burnd:
For one of these must hap in sudden wise,
Either the fire must spoyle him as his pray,
Or whirling winde els blow him quite away.

The duskie clowde in skie (with shadow darke)
Doth cover oft the Sunnes most cleerest light,
So as his beames we cannot see nor marke,
And he himselfe doth play at least in sight:
Ah were I such a clowd on earth to cover
My sweetest Sunne, as doth that clowd the other
But if that clowd doo vanish soone away,
And dooth as momentarie passe and vade;
Eternall would I bee, to hide her ay,
And of a harder mixture would be made
Oh happie I, oh fortunate Eclips,
With kissing so to darken those faire lips.

When first the Sunne did shine upon her eyes,
Who fairest mongst her beauteous Sex doth show,
The Heavens her daintie corps (in curteous wise)
Coverd with chilly cold, and whitest snow.
She (through the nature of that Humor cold)
Both coldest Ice (at once) and purest White
Drawes to her selfe: then none for strange should hold
Though to mee faire and cruell is her sight,
Since that the Heavens (for favours) did impart
A snow-white corps to her, and frozen hart.

When first the cruell Faire deignd graciously
To looke on mee with kinde and curteous view,
And cast on mee a lovely glauncing eye,
She knew not that I was her servant trew:
But she no sooner ware was of the same,
But that she turnd her backe with great disdaine.
So as the wound I (then) close bare in brest,
I (now) through griefe, show outward in my face:
But if that she by whom I wounded rest,
Lives in compassion cold toward me sanz grace:
Hard harted is she, cruell was she to her frend,
And wicked shalbe world withouten end.

If April fresh, doth kindely give us flowers,
September yeeldes with more increase the frute:
(Sweetest) you have in bosome (Beauties Bowers)
Both these sweete tides, whence forth they alwayes shute;
Both flower and fruite alonely you alone
Can give me when you please, or else can none.
Oh dainty bosome, bosome rich in prise,
Surmounting mountaines huge of beaten gold:
Whose whitenes braves the whitest snow that lies
On highest hilles, whose height none can behold:
In you my soule doth hope without annoy,

My mourning mistresse garments blacke doth beare,
And I in blacke like her attired am:
Yet divers is the cause why blacke we weare,
She for anothers death doth shew the same:
I for another reason beare this sute,
Onely to shew by this my outward weede
Mine inward griefe, although my tongue be mute,
Of tender heart which deadly sighes doth bleede.
Thrise happy I, if (as in habite we
Are both in one) our mindes both one might be.

When I did part from thee the other night,
Me thought a fowle blacke Dog with ugly shape
Did follow me, and did me sore affright,
And all the way did greedy on me gape:
Nor I this curre how he at me did howle
Can well as yet forget, with chaps most fowle.
Then thinking of his colour hatefull blacke,
Me thought some ill, my Thought did feare to come,
And said within me, turne againe, turne backe,
If forward thou doest go, thou art undone.
Then pardon Lady, if I backe againe
Am come this night with you for to remaine.

As rockes become exposde gainst waves and winde
More hard; such is thy nature (stubborne Dame)
Opposde gainst waters of my plaints most kind,
And windes of mine hote sighes which inward flame;
That hardnes such to encrease bout heart is found,
As to it, soft might seeme the Diamond.
Hence forward then let no man thinke to moove,
By weeping or lamenting, to his will
This selfe willd saint, which too too well I proove,
A senselesse stone to be unto me still:
Since to my griefe, from all good lucke debard

Ladie what time I seeke in mournefull note
To shew mine agonies and bloudie mone.
My voyce doth faile, and hoarse and harsh my throte,
And this doth come through you, through you alone.
For whilst I thinke by meanes of you in song
To mittigate some part of this my smart,
Insteede thereof you do me double wrong,
And with a glaunce you take away my hart:
So that I finde great hurt by this your theft,
Since where before but voyce, now hart's bereft.