I SAW my Lady weep, And Sorrow proud to be advanced so In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.     Her face was full of woe; But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts.

    Sorrow was there made fair, And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing; Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare:     She made her sighs to sing, And all things with so sweet a sadness move As made my heart at once both grieve and love.

    O fairer than aught else The world can show, leave off in time to grieve! Enough, enough: your joyful look excels:     Tears kill the heart, believe. O strive not to be excellent in woe, Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow.