Anonymous

I SAW my Lady weep,

And Sorrow proud to be advancèd so

In those fair eyes where all perfections keep.

Her face was full of woe:

But such a woe, believe me, as wins more hearts

Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts.

Sorrow was there made fair,

And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing;

Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare;

She made her sighs to sing,

And all things with so sweet a sadness move

As made my heart at once both grieve and love.

O fairer than aught else

The world can show, leave off in time to grieve!

Enough, enough: your joyful look excels;

Tears kill the heart, believe.

O strive not to be excellent in woe,

Which only breeds your beauty’s overthrow.