MY grief began, fair Saint, when first I saw
Love, in those eyes, sit ruling with disdain;
Whose sweet commands did keep a world in awe:
And caused them serve, your favour to obtain.
I stood as one enchanted with a frown;
Yet smiled to see all creatures serve those eyes:
Where each with sighs paid tribute to that crown;
And thought them gracèd by your dumb replies.
But I, ambitious, could not be content
Till that my service, more than sighs made known;
And for that end, my heart to you I sent,
To say and swear that, Fair! it is your own.
Then greater graces, LICIA, do impart!
Not dumb replies, unto a speaking heart.