Thy coming to the world hath taught us to descry
What Petrarch's Laura meant, for truth the lip bewrays.
Lo, why th' Italians, yet which never saw thy rays,
To find out Petrarch's sense such forged glosses try!
The beauties which he in a veil enclosed beheld
But revelations were within his surest heart
By which in parables thy coming he foretold;
His songs were hymns of thee, which only now before
Thy image should be sung; for thou that goddess art
Which only we without idolatry adore.
VII
_Complaint of misfortune in love only_
Now, now I love indeed, and suffer more
In one day now then I did in a year;
Great flames they be which but small sparkles were,
And wounded now, I was but pricked before.
No marvel then, though more than heretofore
I weep and sigh; how can great wounds be there
Where moisture runs not out? and ever, where
The fire is great, of smoke there must be store.
My heart was hitherto but like green wood,
Which must be dried before it will burn bright;
My former love served but my heart to dry;
Now Cupid for his fire doth find it good:
For now it burneth clear, and shall give light
For all the world your beauty to espy.
VIII
_Complaint of his lady's melancholiness_
If that one care had our two hearts possessed,
Or you once (felt) what I long suffered,
Then should thy heart accuse in my heart's stead
The rigour of itself for mine unrest.
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