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Poem	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.
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