I never saw that you did painting need,And therefore to your fair no painting set,I found (or thought I found) you did exceed,That barren tender of a poet's debt:
And therefore have I slept in your report,That you your self being extant well might show,How far a modern quill doth come too short,Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute,Which shall be most my glory being dumb,For I impair not beauty being mute,When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes,Than both your poets can in praise devise.
