Such Emperie hast thou on earth,
And so the heauens aboue dost thou controule:
Yet (by your leaue) a wonder much more rare,
And more stupendious hath the world then you,
For how you make all wonders yeeld and bow
Is easely knowne. Your powers do berthe,
And being taken from vertue of a woman faire.
O Woman guift of the high heauenly skie,
Or rather his who did their spangled gowne
So gorgious make vnto our mortall eye:
What hath it which a Womans beautie push not downe,
In his vast brow a monstrous Cicloplike,
It onely one eye hath,
Which to beholding gazers giues no light,
But rather doth with terrour blindnesse, strike:
Yf it do sigh or speake, t'is like the wrath
Of an enraged Lion that would fight:
And not the skies alone but euen poore fieldes,
Are blasted with the flames his lightning weildes.
Whilst thou with Lampes most sweete,
And with an amorous angelicke light
Of two Sunnes visible that neuer meete,
Dost alwayes the tempesteous troubled spright
Of thy beholder quiet and delight:
Sound, motion, light, that beautie doth assume,
State, daintinesse, and valew, do aright
Mixe such a harmony in that farre sight,
That skyes themselues with vanitie presume,
Yf lesse then Paradice those skies do shine
To Paragon with thee (thing most deuine)
Good reason hath that soueraigne creature (nam'd
A Man) to whom all mortall thinges do how,
If thee beholding, higher cause allow
And yeeld to bee.
What though he rule and triumph truely fam'd,
It is not for high powers more worth do see
In him then is in thee,
Either of scepter or of victorie: