O Eyes, Which Do The Spheres Of Beauty Moue; Whose Beames Be Ioyes, Whose Ioyes All Vertues Be, Who, While They Make Loue Conquer, Conquer Loue; The Schooles Where Venus Hath Learnd Chastitie: O Eyes, Where Humble Lookes Most Glorious Proue, Onely Lou'D Tyrans, Iust In Cruelty, Do Not, O Doe Not, From Poore Me Remoue: Keep Still My Zenith, Euer Shine On Me; For Though I Neuer See Them, But Straightwayes My Life Forgets To Nourish Languisht Sprites, Yet Still On Me, O Eyes, Dart Down Your Rayes! And If From Majestie Of Sacred Lights Oppressing Mortal Sense My Death Proceed, Wraceks Triumphs Be Which Loue Hie Set Doth Breed.