Feir Madame. grac'd from hyest heau'ns aboue,
With wealth of Fortune, Nature, beautye Loue,
Lend not to frowning looks, thy gratious eye,
For this bold pryde, and arrogance in me,
That darr's breath furthe, or preis to pen thy praise
Earths ornament, heaun's obiect, beauties gaize.
Nor Maro great, nor Naso sweit, am I,
Nor haue I Homers mightie style, wheirby
I might to ester aiges e're reveiue,
Thy fame; thy worthe, and mak thy glory leiue,
Zit wer it but t'awake the braver witts,
Whoes loftie quill's thy sweitter praises fitt's,
This much I say, nor vanely vaunt I nather,
Thy wit, thy beautye, and thy vertue rather
Celestiall is, rair, excellent, devyne,
(In whom all woorthe, all grace, al goodnes shyne)
Then humane. so heaun's croun's, adorn's thy bloode
With Naturs wealthe, graceful, & fortuns goode
Then lett the Poëts on their Muses call,
To fil their brains, their pen's, their papers all
With ornament of methode, witt, and sense,
That flowes from thy rair worth, rair excellence.
In goldin showrs, whiche fame on her faire winges,
To eurye natione, countrey, kingdome bringes,
And strowes it heir, and their, in eurye pairt,
To beautifye speeche, eloquence, and arte,
If on poore me, some, drop's she would doune poure,
I'le spend my pains, my witts, soules wasting power
To pen thy praise, and thy braue Mates, whoes worthe
Thow stryues to mach, as thow hes match'd his birth
O wonderous stryfe, blis'd, happie, perfect, pure,
Long may that warre myld, pleasant, sweet, indure.