William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Elizabethan Verse. 1907.
A Praise of His LoveHenry Howard, Earl of Surrey (15171547)
G
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.
As had Penelope the fair;
For what she saith, ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealèd were:
And virtues hath she many moe
Than I with pen have skill to show.
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.
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.’
To be the chiefest work she wrought;
In faith, methink! some better ways
On your behalf might well be sought,
Than to compare, as ye have done,
To match the candle with the sun.