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An Elegy

THOUGH beauty be the mark of praise  
And yours of whom I sing be such 
As not the world can praise too much  
Yet 'tis your Virtue now I raise.
 

A virtue like allay so gone 5 
Throughout your form as though that move 
And draw and conquer all men's love  
This subjects you to love of one.
 

Wherein you triumph yet¡ªbecause 
'Tis of your flesh and that you use 10 
The noblest freedom not to choose 
Against or faith or honour's laws.
 

But who should less expect from you? 
In whom alone Love lives again: 
By whom he is restored to men 15 
And kept and bred and brought up true.
 

His falling temples you have rear'd  
The wither'd garlands ta'en away; 
His altars kept from that decay 
That envy wish'd and nature fear'd: 20 

And on them burn so chaste a flame  
With so much loyalty's expense  
As Love to acquit such excellence 
Is gone himself into your name.
 

And you are he¡ªthe deity 25 
To whom all lovers are design'd 
That would their better objects find; 
Among which faithful troop am I¡ª 

Who as an off'ring at your shrine 
Have sung this hymn and here entreat 30 
One spark of your diviner heat 
To light upon a love of mine.
 

Which if it kindle not but scant 
Appear and that to shortest view; 
Yet give me leave to adore in you 35 
What I in her am grieved to want! 



GLOSS: allay] alloy.