Mark when she smiles with amiable cheare,
    And tell me whereto can ye lyken it:
    when on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare
    an hundred Graces as in shade to sit.
Lykest it seemeth in my simple wit
    unto the fayre sunshine in somers day:
    that when a dreadfull storme away is flit,
    thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly ray:
At sight whereof each bird that sits on spray,
    and every beast that to his den was fled
    comes forth afresh out of their late dismay,
    and to the light lift up theyr drouping hed.
So my storme beaten hart likewise is cheared
    with that sunshine when cloudy looks are cleared.