ı saw my lady weep, And sorrow proud to be advanced so, ın those fair eyes where all perfections keep, Her face was full of woe; But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts, Than mirth can do with her enticing parts. Sorrow was there made fair, And passion wise, tears a delightful thing, Silence beyond all speech a wisdom rare, She made her sighs to sing, And all things with so sweet a sadness move, As made my heart at once both grieve and love. O fairer than aught else, The world can show, leave off in time to grieve, Enough, enough, your joyful looks excels, Tears kills the heart. O strive not to be excellent in woe, Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow.