My Lord of Buckinghams welcome to the King at Burley

Sir, you haue euer shin'd vpon me bright,
But now, you strike and dazle me with light:
You Englands radiant Sunne, vouchsafe to grace
My house, a Spheare too little and too base,
My Burley as a Cabinet containes
The gemme of Europe, which from golden veines
Of glorious Princes, to this height is growne,
And ioynes their precious vertues all in one:
When I your praise would to the world professe;
My thoughts with zeale, and earnest feruour presse
Which should be first, and their officious strife
Restraines my hand from painting you to life.
[.] write, and hauing written I destroy,
Because my lines haue bounds, but not my ioy.