I saw my Lady weep,
       And sorrow proud to be advancèd so 
In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. 
       Her face was full of woe, 
But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts 
       Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. 

       Sorrow was there made fair, 
And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing; 
Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare; 
       She made her sighs to sing, 
And all things with so sweet a sadness move 
As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 

       O fairer than aught else 
The world can show, leave off in time to grieve. 
Enough, enough; your joyful look excels; 
       Tears kill the heart, believe. 
O strive not to be excellent in woe, 
Which only breeds your beauty’s overthrow.