Verse in prayse of Lorde Henrye Howarde Earle of Surrey

WHat should I speake in prayse of Surreys skill
Vnlesse I had a thousand tongues at will?
No one is able to depaint at full,
The flowing fountaine of his sacred Skull.
Whose Pen approoude what wit he had in mue
Where such a skill in making Sonets grue.
Eche worde in place with such a sleight is coucht,
Eche thing whereof he treates so firmely toucht,
As Pallas séemde within his Noble breast
To haue soiournde, and béene a daylie guest.
Our mother tongue by him hath got such light,
As ruder speach thereby is banisht quight:
Reproue him not for fansies that he wrought,
For Fame thereby and nothing else he sought.
What though his verse wt pleasāt toyes are fright?
Yet was his honours life a Lampe of light.
A Mirrour he the simple sort to traine,
That euer beate his brayne for Britans gaine.
By him the Nobles had their vertues blazde,
When spitefull death their honors liues had razde.
Eche that in life had well deserued aught,
By Surreys meanes an endles fame hath caught.
To quite his boone and aye well meaning minde,
Whereby he did his Sequell séeme to binde:
Though want of skill to silence me procures,
I write of him whose fame for aye endures,
A worthie Wight, a Noble for his race,
A learned Lorde that had an Earles place.