What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see,
What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true love is to me!
As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed—
As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening's weed—
As mellow pears above the crabs esteemèd be—
So doth my love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see!
The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray,
The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay.
Or I my love let slip out of mine entire heart,
So deep reposèd in my breast is she for her desart!
For many blessèd gifts, O happy, happy land!
Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand!
Yet, land, more is thy bliss that, in this cruel age,
A Venus' imp thou hast brought forth, so stead fast and so sage.
Among the Muses Nine a tenth if Jove would make,
And to the Graces Three a fourth, her would Apollo take.
Let some for honour hunt, and hoard the massy gold:
With her so I may live and die, my weal cannot be told.

All things within this fading world hath end, 
Adversity doth still our joyes attend;
No tyes so strong, no friends so dear and sweet, 
But with deaths parting blow is sure to meet. 
The sentence past is most irrevocable,
A common thing, yet oh inevitable;
How soon, my Dear, death may my steps attend, 
How soon't may be thy Lot to lose thy friend, 
We both are ignorant, yet love bids me 
These farewell lines to recommend to thee,
That when that knot's unty'd that made us one,
I may seem thine, who in effect am none.
And if I see not half my dayes that's due,
What nature would, God grant to yours and you; 
The many faults that well you know I have,
Let be interr'd in my oblivious grave;
If any worth or virtue were in me,
Let that live freshly in thy memory 
And when thou feel'st no grief, as I no harms, 
Yet love thy dead, who long lay in thine arms: 
And when thy loss shall be repaid with gains 
Look to my little babes my dear remains.
And if thou love thy self, or loved'st me 
These O protect from step Dames injury.
And if chance to thine eyes shall bring this verse, 
With some sad sighs honour my absent Herse; 
And kiss this paper for thy loves dear sake,
Who with salt tears this last Farewel did take.