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MY hungry
eyes, through greedy couetize,
Still to behold the
obiect of theyr payne:
with no contentment can
themselues suffize,
but hauing pine, and hauing not
complayne
For lacking it, they cannot lyfe sustayne,
and seeing it, they gaze on it the more:
in
theyr amazement lyke Marcissus vayne
whose eyes him
staru'd: so plenty makes me pore.
Yet are myne eyes
so filled with the store
of that fayre sight, that
nothing else they brooke:
but loath the things which
they did like before,
and can no more endure on them
to looke.
All this worlds glory seemeth vayne to me,
and all theyr shewes but shadowes sauing she.
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