Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke (1554–1628)

CYNTHIA, whose glories are at full forever,

Whose beauties draw forth tears, and kindle fires,

Fires, which kindled once are quenchèd never:

So beyond hope your worth bears up desires.

Why cast you clouds on your sweet-looking eyes?

Are you afraid, they show me too much pleasure?

Strong Nature decks the grave wherein it lies,

Excellence can never be expressed in measure.

Are you afraid because my heart adores you,

The world will think I hold Endymion’s place?

Hippolytus, sweet Cynthia, kneeled before you;

Yet did you not come down to kiss his face.

Angels enjoy the Heaven’s inward choirs:

Star-gazers only multiply desires.