I SAW my Lady weep, 
And Sorrow proud to be advanced so 
In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. 
   Her face was full of woe; 
But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts 
Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. 

   Sorrow was there made fair, 
And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing; 
Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare: 
   She made her sighs to sing, 
And all things with so sweet a sadness move 
As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 

   O fairer than aught else 
The world can show, leave off in time to grieve! 
Enough, enough: your joyful look excels: 
   Tears kill the heart, believe. 
O strive not to be excellent in woe, 
Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow.