When I should view your fair head justly crowned
With laurel leaves, please make your lute so plaintively
Resound that it compels each rock, each tree
To follow you. Oh, when I see you so bedecked
And surrounded by ten thousand marks of virtue
Of such renown that no one else achieves
And all the highest praises that we weave
Now tell my heart so passionate for you.
So many virtues that make you so well loved
By which we all make you so highly valued
Will you not also give your love to me?
And add to your virtuous fame
By remembering my pitiful name
That my love may enflame you gently.