She whose matchless beauty

She whose matchless beauty staineth

What best judgment fair'st maintaineth,

She, O she, my love disdaineth.

Can a creature, so excelling,

Harbour scorn in beauty's dwelling,

All kind pity thence expelling?

Pity beauty much commendeth

And th' embracer oft befriendeth

When all eye-contentment endeth.

Time proves beauty transitory;

Scorn, the stain of beauty's glory,

In time makes the scorner sorry.

None adores the sun declining;

Love all love falls to resigning

When the sun of love leaves shining.

So, when flower of beauty fails thee,

And age, stealing on, assails thee,

Then mark what this scorn avails thee.

Then those hearts, which now complaining

Feel the wounds of thy disdaining,

Shall contemn thy beauty waning.

Yea, thine own heart, now dear-prizèd,

Shall with spite and grief surprisèd

Burst to find itself despisèd.

When like harms have them requited

Who in others' harms delighted,

Pleasingly the wrong'd are righted.

Such revenge my wrongs attending,

Hope still lives on time depending,

By thy plagues thy torrents ending.