The poem
Ioy of my life, full oft for louing you I blesse my lot, that was so lucky placed: but then the more your owne mishap I rew, that are so much by so meane loue embased. For had the equall heuens so much you graced in this as in the rest, ye mote inuent som heuenly wit, whose verse could haue enchased your glorious name in golden moniment. But since ye deignd so goodly to relent to me your thrall, in whom is little worth, that little that I am, shall all be spent, in setting your immortall prayses forth. Whose lofty argument vplifting me, shall lift you vp vnto an high degree.