Nay, prithee tell me, Love, when I behold My lady, do mine eyes her beauty see In truth, or dwells that loveliness in me Which multiplies her grace a thousandfold?...
Scarce had I seen for the first time his eyes Which to your living eyes were life and light, When closed at last in death's injurious night He opened them on God in Paradise....
It happens that the sweet unfathomed sea Of seeming courtesy sometimes doth hide Offence to life and honour. This descried, I hold less dear the health restored to me....
God's grace, the cross, our troubles multiplied, Will make us meet in heaven, full well I know: Yet ere we yield our breath, on earth below Why need a little solace be denied?...