My Lady, Thou Art Fairer
f many a beauty so fair,
My lady, thou art fairer.
Of them a lady I hold so dear,
Thou to me, art far dearer.
Each time into thine eyes I look,
Passions rob me of speech.
O how would I ever bring to book
This which I cannot impeach?!
If this beauty were all thou art,
Then cursed would be my passions;
But far greater than a vain heart,
Thou beat all my confessions!
If words are thy bed of roses,
I would write thee a plantation.
And if deeds are thy fine horses,
I would buy thee many a stallion!
Let not my valour deceive thee:
My heart is of many, more tender.
Deep in my eyes thou could see
How my tears rip vigour asunder!
And lo, my very lady so fair,
Thou art still to me, fairer;
For of them all I hold so dear,
Thou will always to me be dearer.
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