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HAppy ye
leaues when as those lilly hands,
which hold my life
in their dead doing might
shall handle you and hold
in loues soft bands,
lyke captiues trembling at the
victors sight.
And happy lines, on which with starry
light,
those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to
look
and reade the sorrowes of my dying spright,
written with teares in harts close bleeding book.
And happy rymes bath'd in the sacred brooke,
of
Helicon whence she deriued is,
when ye behold that
Angels blessed looke,
my soules long lacked foode,
my heauens blis.
Leaues, lines, and rymes, seeke her
to please alone,
whom if ye please, I care for other
none.
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