If chaste and pure devotion of my youth,
Or glorie of my Aprill-springing yeeres,
Unfained love, in naked simple truth,
A thousand vowes, a thousand sighes and teares:

Or if a world of faithfull service done,
Words, thoughts, and deeds, devoted to her honor,
Or eyes that have beheld her as theyr sunne,
With admiration, ever looking on her.

A lyfe, that never joyd but in her love,
A soule, that ever hath ador'd her name,
A fayth, that time nor fortune could not move,
A Muse, that unto heaven hath raisd her fame.
Though these, nor these, deserve to be imbraced,
Yet faire unkinde, too good to be disgraced.