Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. I. Early Poetry: Chaucer to Donne

Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey (1517–1547)

A Praise of His Love

[Wherein he reproveth them that compare their ladies with his]

GIVE place, ye lovers, here before

That spent your boasts and brags in vain;

My lady’s beauty passeth more

The best of yours, I dare well sayen,

Than doth the sun the candle light

Or brightest day the darkest night.

And thereto hath a troth as just

As had Penelope the fair;

For what she saith, ye may it trust,

As it by writing sealed were:

And virtues hath she many moe

Than I with pen have skill to show.

I could rehearse, if that I would,

The whole effect of Nature’s plaint,

When she had lost the perfect mould,

The like to whom she could not paint:

With wringing hands, how she did cry,

And what she said, I know it, I.

I know she swore with raging mind,

Her kingdom only set apart,

There was no loss by law of kind

That could have gone so near her heart;

And this was chiefly all her pain;

‘She could not make the like again.’

Sith Nature thus gave her the praise,

To be the chiefest work she wrought;

In faith, methinks! some better ways

On your behalf might well be sought,

Than to compare, as ye have done,

To match the candle with the sun.