To Licia the wise, kinde, vertuous, and fayre

Bright matchles starre, the honour of the skie,
From whose cleare shine, heavens vawt hath all his light,
I send these Poems to your gracelesse eye:
Doe you but take them, and they have their right.
I build besides a Temple to your name,
Wherein my thoughtes shall daily sing your praise:
And will erect an aulter for the same,
Which shall your vertues, and your honour raise.
But heaven the Temple of your honour is,
Whose brasen toppes your worthie selfe made proude:
The ground an aulter, base for such a blisse
With pitie torne, because I sigh'd so loude.
And since my skill no worship can impart,
Make you an incense of my loving heart.