Th'old _English_ Glory bravely that restor'd,
That Prince and Poet (a Name more divine)
Falling in Love with Beauteous _Geraldine_,
Of the _Geraldi_, which derive their Name
From _Florence_; whether to advance her Fame,
He travels, and in publick Justs maintain'd
Her Beauty peerless, which by Arms he gain'd.

In his way to _Florence_, he touch'd at the Emperor's Court; where he
fell in acquaintance with the great Learned _Cornelius Agrippa_, so
famous for Magick, who shewed him the Image of his _Geraldine_ in a
Glass, sick, weeping on her Bed, and resolved all into devout Religion
for the absence of her Lord; upon sight of which, he made this Sonnet.

All Soul, no earthly Flesh, why dost thou fade?
All Gold, no earthly Dross, why look'st thou pale?
Sickness, how dar'st thou one so fair invade?
Too base Infirmity to work her Bale.
Heaven be distempered since she grieved pines,
Never be dry these my sad plantive Lines.

Pearch thou my Spirit on her Silver Breasts,
And with their pains redoubled Musick beatings,
Let them toss thee to world where all toil rests,
Where Bliss is subject to no Fear's defeatings;
Her Praise I tune whose Tongue doth tune the Sphears,
And gets new Muses in her Hearers Ears.

Stars fall to fetch fresh light from her rich eyes,
Her bright Brow drives the Sun to Clouds beneath.