To you, first mover and sole cause of it,
Mine own-self's better half, my dearest friend!
Oh would you, yet, my Muse some honey lend
From your mellifluous tongue (whereon doth sit
Suada in majesty) that I may fit
These harsh beginnings with a sweeter end!
You know the modest sun, full fifteen times,
Blushing did rise, and blushing did descend,
While I, in making of these ill made rhymes,
My golden hours unthriftily did spend: