The King's Sonnet

So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
 To those fresh morning drops upon the rose
 As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
 The night of dew that on my cheek down flows
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 Nor sine the silver moon so bright! through the transparent bosom of the deep
 As doth thy face through tears if mine give light, thou shinest in every tear that i do weep
 No drop but as a coach, doth carry thee
 So ridest thou triumphing in my woe do but behold the tears that swell in me
 And they thy glory through my grief will show
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 But do not love thyself; then thou will keep
 My tears for glasses, and still make me weep
 O queen of queens! how far dost thou excel no thought can think, nor tounge of mortal