Like unshorn velvet, on that termless skin

Whose bare outbragged the web it seemed to wear;

Yet showed his visage by that cost more dear,

And nice affections wavering stood in doubt

If best were as it was, or best without.

‘His qualities were beauteous as his form,

For maiden-tongued he was, and thereof free.

Yet if men moved him, was he such a storm

As oft twixt May and April is to see

When winds breathe sweet, unruly though they be.

His rudeness so with his authorized youth

Did livery falseness in a pride of truth.

‘Well could he ride, and often men would say

“That horse his mettle from his rider takes;

Proud of subjection, noble by the sway,

What rounds, what bounds, what course, what stop

he makes!”

And controversy hence a question takes,

Whether the horse by him became his deed,

Or he his manège by th’ well-doing steed.

‘But quickly on this side the verdict went:

His real habitude gave life and grace

To appertainings and to ornament,

Accomplished in himself, not in his case.

All aids, themselves made fairer by their place,

Came for additions; yet their purposed trim

Pieced not his grace, but were all graced by him.

‘So on the tip of his subduing tongue

All kind of arguments and question deep,

All replication prompt, and reason strong,

For his advantage still did wake and sleep.

To make the weeper laugh, the laugher weep,

He had the dialect and different skill,

Catching all passions in his craft of will,

‘That he did in the general bosom reign

Of young, of old, and sexes both enchanted,

To dwell with him in thoughts, or to remain

In personal duty, following where he haunted.

Consents bewitched, ere he desire, have granted,

And dialogued for him what he would say,

Asked their own wills, and made their wills obey.

‘Many there were that did his picture get

To serve their eyes, and in it put their mind,

Like fools that in th’imagination set

The goodly objects which abroad they find

Of lands and mansions, theirs in thought assigned,

And labour in more pleasures to bestow them

Than the true gouty landlord which doth owe them.

‘So many have, that never touched his hand,

Sweetly supposed them mistress of his heart.

My woeful self, that did in freedom stand,

And was my own fee-simple, not in part,

What with his art in youth, and youth in art,

Threw my affections in his charmed power,

Reserved the stalk and gave him all my flower.

‘Yet did I not, as some my equals did,

Demand of him, nor being desired yielded.

Finding myself in honour so forbid,

With safest distance I mine honour shielded.

Experience for me many bulwarks builded

Of proofs new bleeding, which remained the foil

Of this false jewel and his amorous spoil.

‘But ah, who ever shunned by precedent

The destined ill she must herself assay,

Or forced examples ’gainst her own content

To put the by-past perils in her way?

Counsel may stop a while what will not stay,

For when we rage, advice is often seen,

By blunting us, to make our wills more keen.

‘Nor gives it satisfaction to our blood

That we must curb it upon others’ proof,

To be forbod the sweets that seems so good

For fear of harms that preach in our behoof.

O appetite, from judgement stand aloof!

The one a palate hath that needs will taste,

Though reason weep, and cry it is thy last.

‘For further I could say this man’s untrue,

And knew the patterns of his foul beguiling;

Heard where his plants in others’ orchards grew,

Saw how deceits were gilded in his smiling,

Knew vows were ever brokers to defiling,

Thought characters and words merely but art,

And bastards of his foul adulterate heart.

‘And long upon these terms I held my city

Till thus he gan besiege me: “Gentle maid,

Have of my suffering youth some feeling pity,

And be not of my holy vows afraid.

That’s to ye sworn to none was ever said;

For feasts of love I have been called unto,

Till now did ne’er invite nor never woo.

‘ “All my offences that abroad you see

Are errors of the blood, none of the mind.

Love made them not; with acture they may be,

Where neither party is nor true nor kind.

They sought their shame that so their shame did find,

And so much less of shame in me remains

By how much of me their reproach contains.