Letters and lynes, we see, are soone defaced,
    Mettles doe waste and fret with cankers rust;
    The Diamond shall once consume to dust,
    And freshest colours with foule staines disgraced. 
    Paper and yncke can paynt but naked words,
    To write with blood of force offends the sight,
    And if with teares, I find them all too light;
    And sighes and signes a silly hope affoords. 
    O, sweetest shadow! how thou seru’st my turne,
    Which still shalt be as long as there is Sunne,
    Nor whilst the world is neuer shall be done,
    Whilst Moone shall shyne by night, or any fire shall burne: 
      That euery thing whence shadow doth proceede,
      May in his shadow my Loues story reade.

Amour 22

    My hart, imprisoned in a hopeless Ile,
    Peopled with Armies of pale iealous eyes,
    The shores beset with thousand secret spyes,
    Must passe by ayre, or else dye in exile. 
    He framd him wings with feathers of his thought,
    Which by theyr nature learn’d to mount the skye;
    And with the same he practised to flye,
    Till he himself thys Eagles art had taught. 
    Thus soring still, not looking once below,
    So neere thyne eyes celesteall sunne aspyred,
    That with the rayes his wafting pyneons fired: 
    Thus was the wanton cause of his owne woe. 
      Downe fell he, in thy Beauties Ocean drenched,
      Yet there he burnes in fire thats neuer quenched.

Amour 23

    Wonder of Heauen, glasse of diuinitie,
    Rare beautie, Natures joy, perfections Mother,
    The worke of that vnited Trinitie,
    Wherein each fayrest part excelleth other! 
    Loues Mithridate, the purest of perfection,
    Celestiall Image, Load-stone of desire,
    The soules delight, the sences true direction,
    Sunne of the world, thou hart reuyuing fire! 
    Why should’st thou place thy Trophies in those eyes,
    Which scorne the honor that is done to thee,
    Or make my pen her name immortalize,
    Who in her pride sdaynes once to look on me? 
      It is thy heauen within her face to dwell,
      And in thy heauen, there onely, is my hell.

Amour 24

Our floods-Queene, Thames, for shyps and Swans is crowned, And stately Seuerne for her shores is praised, The christall Trent for Foords and fishe renowned, And Auons fame to Albyons Cliues is raysed. Carlegion Chester vaunts her holy Dee, Yorke many wonders of her Ouse can tell, The Peake her Doue, whose bancks so fertill bee, And Kent will say her Medway doth excell.  Cotswoold commends her Isis and her Tame, Our Northern borders boast of Tweeds faire flood; Our Westerne parts extoll theyr Wilys fame, And old Legea brags of Danish blood: 
  Ardens sweet Ankor, let thy glory be
That fayre Idea shee doth liue by thee.

Amour 25