And cunningly devised by master-hand,
Thy worth and beauty better would express
Than my rude phrases—serving but to stand
As tokens of thy power and of my faithfulness.
Yet tokens true are they; as tender shoots,
Just peeping through the earth, are sureties good
That deep below are hidden strongest roots,
Which give this evidence of lustihood,
So doth the love, long ’prisoned in my breast,
Forced by its growth, at length expression find;