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.