To you, to you all song of praise be due,
Onely of you the flatterer never lieth.
8 Who hath the voyce which soule from senses sunders,
Whose force but yours the bolt of beautie thunders?
To you, to you all song of praise is due,
Onely with you no miracles are wonders.
9 Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth,
Which now my breast orechargd with Musick lendeth?
To you, to you all song of praise is due,
Onely in you my song begins and endeth.