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MOre then
most faire, full of the liuing fire,
Kindled aboue
vnto the maker neere:
no eies buy ioyes, in which al
powers conspire,
that to the world naught else be
counted deare.
Thrugh your bright beams doth not ye
blinded guest,
shoot out his darts to base
affections wound:
but Angels come to lead fraile
mindes to rest
in chast desires on heauenly beauty
bound.
You frame my thoughts and fashion me within,
you stop my toung, and teach my hart to speake,
you calme the storme that passion did begin,
stro[n]g
thrugh your cause, but by your vertue weak.
Dark is
the world, where your light shined neuer;
well is he
borne, that may behold you euer.
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