The King's Sonnet

So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose

As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote

The night of dew that on my cheek down flows

Nor sine the silver moon so bright! through the transparent bosom of the deep

As doth thy face through tears if mine give light, thou shinest in every tear that i do weep

No drop but as a coach, doth carry thee

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe do but behold the tears that swell in me

And they thy glory through my grief will show

But do not love thyself; then thou will keep

My tears for glasses, and still make me weep

O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel no thought can think, nor tounge of mortal