Classic Poem

Of this high grace with blisse conioyn'd,
No further debt on me is laid;
Since that is selfe-same metall coin'd,
Sweet ladie, you remaine well paid;
For if my place giue me great pleasure,
Hauing before me Nature's treasure,
In face and eyes vnmatched being,
You haue the same in my hands, seeing
What in your face mine eyes do measure
Nor thinke the match vneu'nly made,
That of those beames in you do tarie

The glasse to you but giues a shade,
To me mine eyes the true shape carie;
For such a thought most highlie prized,
Which euer hath Loue's yoke despised,
Better then one captiu'd perceiueth;
Though he the liuely forme receiueth,
The other sees it but disguised.

Your state is great, your greatnesse is our shield;
Your face hurts oft, but still it doth delight;
Your mind is wise, your wisedome makes you mild:
Such planted gifts enrich euen beggers' sight.
So dare I wretch, my bashfull feare subdue,
And feede mine eares, mine eyes, my hart in you.