her eyes bright shining,
    And shee, in her owne destiny diuining,
    Threw in herselfe, to saue herselfe by drowning;
      The Well of Nectar, pau’d with pearle and gold,
      Where shee remaines for all eyes to behold.

Amour 10

    Oft taking pen in hand, with words to cast my woes,
    Beginning to account the sum of all my cares,
    I well perceiue my griefe innumerable growes,
    And still in reckonings rise more millions of dispayres. 
    And thus, deuiding of my fatall howres,
    The payments of my loue I read, and reading crosse,
    And in substracting set my sweets vnto my sowres;
    Th’ average of my ioyes directs me to my losse. 
    And thus mine eyes, a debtor to thine eye,
    Who by extortion gaineth all theyr lookes,
    My hart hath payd such grieuous vsury,
    That all her wealth lyes in thy Beauties bookes;
      And all is thine which hath been due to mee,
      And I a Banckrupt, quite vndone by thee.

Amour 11

    Thine eyes taught mee the Alphabet of loue,
    To con my Cros-rowe ere I learn’d to spell;
    For I was apt, a scholler like to proue,
    Gaue mee sweet lookes when as I learned well. 
    Vowes were my vowels, when I then begun
    At my first Lesson in thy sacred name: 
    My consonants the next when I had done,
    Words consonant, and sounding to thy fame. 
    My liquids then were liquid christall teares,
    My cares my mutes, so mute to craue reliefe;
    My dolefull Dypthongs were my liues dispaires,
    Redoubling sighes the accents of my griefe: 
      My loues Schoole-mistris now hath taught me so,
      That I can read a story of my woe.

Amour 12

    Some Atheist or vile Infidell in loue,
    When I doe speake of thy diuinitie,
    May blaspheme thus, and say I flatter thee,
    And onely write my skill in verse to proue. 
    See myracles, ye vnbeleeuing! see
    A dumbe-born Muse made to expresse the mind,
    A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind,
    One by thy name, the other touching thee. 
    Blind were mine eyes, till they were seene of thine,
    And mine eares deafe by thy fame healed be;
    My vices cur’d by vertues sprung from thee,
    My hopes reuiu’d, which long in graue had lyne: 
      All vncleane thoughts, foule spirits, cast out in mee
      By thy great power, and by strong fayth in thee.

Amour 13

    Cleere Ankor, on whose siluer-sanded shore
    My soule-shrinde Saint, my faire Idea, lyes;
    O blessed Brooke! whose milk-white Swans adore
    The christall streame refined by her eyes: 
    Where sweet Myrh-breathing Zephyre in the spring
    Gently distils his Nectar-dropping