Thomas Campion (1567–1620)

THERE is none, O none but you,

That from me estrange your sight,

Whom mine eyes affect to view

Or chainèd ears hear with delight.

Other beauties others move,

In you I all graces find;

Such is the effect of Love,

To make them happy that are kind.

Women in frail beauty trust,

Only seem you fair to me;

Yet prove truly kind and just,

For that may not dissembled be.

Sweet, afford me then your sight!

That, surveying all your looks,

Endless volumes I may write

And fill the world with envied books:

Which when after-ages view,

All shall wonder and despair,—

Woman to find man so true,

Or man a woman half so fair.