To his Lady-love

In this sweete booke, ye treasury of witt,
All virtues, beautyes, passions, written be:
And with such life they are sett forth in it
as still methinkes yt which I read I see.
But this booke's Mrs. is a liveing booke,
Which hath indeed those vertues in her mynde,
And in whose face though envey's selfe do looke,
Even envye's eye shall all those beautyes fynd.
Onely ye passions y are printed here,
In her calme thoughts can no impression make:
She will not love, nor hate, nor hope, nor feare,
Though others seeke theise passions for her sake.
So in ye sonne, some say there is no heate
though his reflecting beames doe fire begett.