I saw my lady weep,
And Sorrow proud to be advancid so
In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.
Her face was full of woe;
But such a woe, believe me, as wins more hearts
Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts.

Sorrow was there made fair,
And Passion wise; tears a delightful thing;
Silence beyond all speech a wisdom rare.
She made her sighs to sing,
And all things with so sweet a sadness move,
As made my heart at once both grieve and love.

O fairer than aught else
The world can show! leave off in time to grieve.
Enough, enough: your joyful looks excels:
Tears kills the heart, believe.
Oh, strive not to be excellent in woe,
Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow.