IF I somewhile look up into the Skies,
I see, fair Lady, that same cheerful light;
Which, like to you, doth shine in glorious wise:
And if on th' Earth, I chance to cast my sight;
The moveless centre firm to me doth show
The hardness which within your heart doth grow.
If Seas I view, the flowing waves most plain
Your fickle faith do represent to me.
So as I still behold you, to my pain;
When as the Skies, or th' Earth, or Seas I see:
For in your seemly self doth plain appear
Like faith; like hardness; and like brightness clear.