But them, so sweet is she, most sweetly sing,
With that faire brest, making Woes darknes cleere,
A prittie case I hoped her to bring,
To feele my griefe, and she with face and voice,
So sweetes my paines, that my paines me rejoyce.
Doubt there hath beene, when with his golden chaine
The Orator so farre mens harts doth bind:
That no pace els their guided steps can find;
But as in them more shorte or slacke doth raine.
Whether with words this sou’raigntte be gaine,