That is the thing which giveth pleasant grace To all things faire, that kindleth lively fyre; Light of thy lampe; which, shyning in the face, Thence to the soule darts amorous desyre, 60 And robs the harts of those which it admyre; Therewith thou pointest thy sons poysned arrow, That wounds the life and wastes the inmost marrow.

the worlds deare ornaments, And lively images of heavens light, Let not your beames with such disparagements Be dimd, and your bright glorie darkned quight; l65 But mindfull still of your first countries sight, Doe still preserve your first informed grace, Whose shadow yet shynes in your beauteous face.

To them the heavens illimitable hight (Not this round heaven which we from hence behold, Adornd with thousand lamps of burning light, And with ten thousand gemmes of shyning gold) 60 He gave as their inheritance to hold, That they might serve him in eternall blis, And be partakers of those ioyes of his.

whose sight cannot sustaine 120 The suns bright beames when he on us doth shyne, But* that their points rebutted** backe againe Are duld, how can we see with feeble eyne The glorie of that Maiestie Divine, In sight of whom both sun and moone are darke, 125 Compared to his least resplendent sparke?

Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place; Did never mortall eye behold such heavenly grace.