The Beautie that in Paradice doth grow,
Lively appeares in my sweet Goddesse face,
From whence (as from a christall River) flow
Favour devine, and comelines of grace.
But in her daintie (yet too cruell) Brest
More crueltie and hardnes doth abound,
Than doth in painfull Purgatorie rest:
So that (at once) she's faire and cruell found,
When in her face and breast, (ah griefe to tell)
Bright Heaven she showes, and craftie hides dark hell.

Love (being blinde) hath wrought me damage sore,
Thou (blinde in this my loving) evill wast,
Nor would I see the snare (being blinde farre more)
Wherein my selfe I did entangle fast:
Yet hath this blindnes harme done unto none,
But unto Beauties Buzzard, me alone.
When blinded Boy did catch my harmlesse Hart,
Thou didst not see the net so intricate
Which bound mee (being blinde, blinde as thou art)
To be a thrall, in this most wretched state:
So that (alone to worke my misery)
Love blinde is, blinde wert Thou, and blinder I.

Great was the strife betweene the Sunne on hie
And my faire Sunne, when first she gan to peere,
Who should exceed in brightest Majestie,
And show in sight of spacious world most cleere:
The Sunne did shine, but she did lighten bright,
And so his burning beames extinguisht quite.
Nay more, my Sunne on sudden to the Sunne
Lent light, and yet no light at all did want:
Where els the other had been quite undone
For lacke of brightnes, which with him was scant:
The beautie then the Sunne doth use to show
My Sunne doth give, and from her it doth grow.

Like to the blacksome night I may compare
My Mistres gowne, when darknes playes his prise:
But her sweet face, like to the Sunne most faire,
When he in glory ginneth to arise.
Yet this no whit the other doth disgrace,
But rather dubleth Bewtie in the place.
Contraries like to these set opposite,
So daintie and so pleasing in their show
To lookers on, doo breed no small delight,
And pleasure great thereby to them doth grow.
Oh wonder strange, oh sollace sweete to see,
In one selfe subject Night and Day to bee.

When She was borne, she came with smiling eye
Laughing into the world, a signe of glee;
When I was borne (to her quite contrarie)
Wayling I came into the world to see.
Then marke this wonder strange: what Nature gave
From first to th'last this fashion kept we have.
She in my sad laments doth take great joy,
I through her laughing die, and languish must,
Unlesse that Love (to save me from this noy)
Doo unto mee (unworthy) shew so just
As for to change her laughter into paine,
And my complaints into her joy againe.

Ladie, thou seemest Fortune unto me
When I most wistly marke, how thou dost go
With golden tresses loose, (a joy to see)
Which gentle winde about thy eares doth blow:
And as thou her resemblest in this sort,
So doest thou in attire and all thy port.
Only thou wantest for thy swift right hand
The rolling wheele, and shadowing vaile to hide
Those eyes, which like controllers do command:
But if thou longst of these to be supplide,
Take me (thy prisoner) for to play this part,
For my Desire's the wheele, the Vaile's my HART.

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries, but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes. And thus far hear me, Cromwell,
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee;
Say Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in,
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it.

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes; to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost;
And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory,
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me, and now has left me,

Orpheus with his Lute made Trees,
And the Mountaine tops that freeze,
Bow themselves when he did sing.
To his Musicke, Plants and Flowers
Ever spring; as Sunne and Showres,
There had been a lasting Spring.
Every thing that heard him play,
Even the Billowes of the Sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet Musicke is such Art,
Killing care, and griefe of heart,
Fall asleepe, or hearing dye. III, i

Let me speak sir,
For Heaven now bids me; and the words I utter
Let none think flattery, for they'll find them truth.
This royal infant, (Heaven still move about her!)
Though in her cradle, yet now promises
Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings,
Which time shall bring to ripeness: She shall be
(But few now living, can behold that goodness)
A pattern to all princes, living with her,
And all, that shall succeed: Sheba was never
More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces,