42 (Song 6) Poem by Mary Wroth

You happy blessed eyes,
Which in that ruling place,
Have force both to delight, and to disgrace;
Whose light allures and tyes
All hearts to your command:
O looke on me, who doe at mercy stand.

'Tis you that rule my life,
T'is you my comforts give,
Then let not scorne to me my ending drive:
Nor let the frownes of strife
Haue might to hurt those lights;
Which while they shine they are true loues delights.

See but when Night appeares,
And Sunne hath lost his force,
How his loss doth all joye from us divorce:
And when he shines, and cleares
The Heavens from clowdes of Night,
How happy then is made our gazing sight?

But more then Sun's faire light
Your beames doe seeme to me,
Whose sweetest lookes doe tye, and yet make free:
Why should you then so spight
Poore me? as to destroy
The only pleasure that I taste of joy?

Shine then, O dearest lights
With favour and with love
And let no cause, your cause of frownings move:
But as the soules delights,
So blesse my then blesst eyes,
Which unto you their true affection tyes.

Then shall the Sunne give place,
As to your greater might,
Yeelding that you doe show more perfect light.
O then but grant this grace,
Unto your Love-tide slave,
To shine on me, who to you all faith gave.

And when you please to frowne,
Use your most killing eyes
On them, who in untruth and falsehood lies,
But (Deare) on me cast downe
Sweet lookes, for true desire;
That banish doe all thoughts of faigned fire.