Thou art not soft, and cleare, and strait, and faire,
As Down, as Stars, Cedars, and Lillies are,
But thy right hand, and cheek, and eye, only
Are like thy other hand, and cheek, and eye.
25Such was my Phao awhile, but shall be never,
As thou, wast, art, and, oh, maist be ever.
Here lovers sweare in their Idolatrie,
That I am such; but Griefe discolors me.
And yet I grieve the lesse, least Griefe remove
30My beauty, and make me'unworthy of thy love.