When you do boast of matters yours well know
The words you uttered missed what you know most
For why with pride amiss what pride should grow,
And absent 'beauty' from your words of boast?
Modesty is; what eyes deny with sight;
Thus I, possessing them deny with mine,
Uplifting you beyond your wishful height
Into where angels bathe within their shine.
But in such praise, from I myself withhold
The praise that lovers love bestow with heart?
And whilst you grow decrease my bitter mold
To that once loved by eyes, has loved apart:
Yet none a sweeter death coud love so give:
Thus take my whole, but words of mine outlive.
