Chapter 14 POEM: SONG

To the tune of "Wilhelmus van Nassau," &c. Who hath his fancy pleased, With fruits of happy sight, Let here his eyes be raised On Natures sweetest light; A light which doth dissever, And yet unite the eyes; A light which, dying, never Is cause the looker dies. She never dies, but lasteth In life of lovers heart; He ever dies that wasteth In love his chiefest part. Thus is her life still guarded, In never dying faith; Thus is his death rewarded, Since she lives in his death. Look then and die, the pleasure Doth answer well the pain; Small loss of mortal treasure, Who may immortal gain. Immortal be her graces, Immortal is her mind; They, fit for heavenly places, This heaven in it doth bind.

But eyes these beauties see not, Nor sense that grace descries; Yet eyes deprived be not From sight of her fair eyes: Which, as of inward glory They are the outward seal, So may they live still sorry, Which die not in that weal . But who hath fancies pleased, With fruits of happy sight, Let here his eyes be raised On Natures sweetest light.