To the tune of "Wilhelmus van Nassau," &c.

Who hath his fancy pleased, With fruits of happy sight, Let here his eyes be raised On Natures sweetest light; A light which doth dissever, And yet unite the eyes; A light which, dying, never Is cause the looker dies.

She never dies, but lasteth In life of lovers heart; He ever dies that wasteth In love his chiefest part. Thus is her life still guarded, In never dying faith; Thus is his death rewarded, Since she lives in his death.

Look then and die, the pleasure Doth answer well the pain; Small loss of mortal treasure, Who may immortal gain. Immortal be her graces, Immortal is her mind; They, fit for heavenly places, This heaven in it doth bind.

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