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LXXX.
O,
how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better
spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof
spends all his might,
To make me tongue-tied,
speaking of your fame!
But since your worth, wide as
the ocean is,
The humble as the proudest sail doth
bear,
My saucy bark inferior far to his
On your
broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help
will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless
deep doth ride;
Or being wreck'd, I am a worthless
boat,
He of tall building and of goodly pride:
Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
The worst was
this; my love was my decay.
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