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MY hungry
eyes through greedy couetize,
still to behold the
obiect of their paine:
with no contentment can
themselues suffize,
but hauing pine and hauing not
complaine.
For lacking it they cannot lyfe sustayne,
and hauing it they gaze on it the more:
in their
amazement lyke Narcissus vaine
whose eyes him
staru'd: so plenty makes me poore
Yet are mine eyes
so filled with the store
of that faire sight, that
nothing else they brooke,
but lothe 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 their showes but shadowes sauing she.
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