VI.

Be nought dismayd that her unmoved mind
Doth still persist in her rebellious pride: 
Such love, not lyke to lusts of baser kynd,
The harder wonne, the firmer will abide. 
The durefull oake whose sap is not yet dride
Is long ere it conceive the kindling fyre;
But when it once doth burne, it doth divide
Great heat, and makes his flames to heaven aspire. 
So hard it is to kindle new desire
In gentle brest, that shall endure for ever: 
Deepe is the wound that dints the parts entire*
With chaste affects, that naught but death can sever. 
  Then thinke not long in taking litle paine
  To knit the knot that ever shall remaine.
[* Entire, inward.]

VII.

Fayre eyes! the myrrour of my mazed hart,
What wondrous vertue is contayn’d in you,
The which both lyfe and death forth from you dart
Into the obiect of your mighty view? 
For when ye mildly looke with lovely hew,
Then is my soule with life and love inspired: 
But when ye lowre, or looke on me askew,
Then do I die, as one with lightning fyred. 
But since that lyfe is more then death desyred,
Looke ever lovely, as becomes you best;
That your bright beams, of my weak eies admyred,
May kindle living fire within my brest. 
   Such life should be the honor of your light,
   Such death the sad ensample of your might.

VIII

More then most faire, full of the living fire
Kindled above unto the Maker nere,
No eies, but ioyes, in which al powers conspire,
That to the world naught else be counted deare! 
Thrugh your bright beams doth not the blinded guest
Shoot out his darts to base affections wound;
But angels come, to lead fraile mindes to rest
In chast desires, on heavenly 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,
Strong thrugh your cause, but by your vertue weak. 
   Dark is the world where your light shined never;
   Well is he borne that may behold you ever.

IX.

Long-while I sought to what I might compare
Those powrefull eies which lighten my dark spright;
Yet find I nought on earth, to which I dare
Resemble th’ymage of their goodly light. 
Not to the sun, for they doo shine by night;
Nor to the moone, for they are changed never;
Nor to the starres, for they have purer sight;
Nor to the fire, for they consume not ever;
Nor to the lightning, for they still persever;
Nor to the diamond, for they are more tender;
Nor unto cristall, for nought may them sever;
Nor unto glasse, such basenesse mought offend her. 
  Then to the Maker selfe they likest be,
  Whose light doth lighten all that here we see.