Followe thy faire sunne unhappy shaddowe
Though thou be blacke as night
And she made all of light,
Yet follow thy faire sunne unhappie shaddowe.

Follow her whose light thy light depriveth,
Though here thou liv'st disgrac't,
And she in heaven is plac't,
Yer lollow her whose light the world reviveth.

Follow those pure beames whose beautie burneth
That so have scorched thee,
As thou still blacke must bee,
Til her kind beames thy black to brightness turneth.

Follow her while yet her glorie shineth:
There comes a luckless night,
That will dim all light,
And this the black unhappie shade devineth.

Follow still since so thy fates ordained,
The sunne must have his shade,
Till both at once do fade,
The sun still [ap]prov'd the shadow still disdained.