THOUGH beauty be the mark of praise, br And yours of whom I sing be such br As not the world can praise too much, br Yet 'tis your Virtue now I raise. br br A virtue, like allay so gone br Throughout your form as, though that move br And draw and conquer all men's love, br This subjects you to love of one. br br Wherein you triumph yet-because br 'Tis of your flesh, and that you use br The noblest freedom, not to choose br Against or faith or honour's laws. br br But who should less expect from you? br In whom alone Love lives again: br By whom he is restored to men, br And kept and bred and brought up true. br br His falling temples you have rear'd, br The wither'd garlands ta'en away; br His altars kept from that decay br That envy wish'd, and nature fear'd: br br And on them burn so chaste a flame, br With so much loyalty's expense, br As Love to acquit such excellence br Is gone himself into your name. br br And you are he-the deity br To whom all lovers are design'd br That would their better objects find; br Among which faithful troop am I- br br Who as an off'ring at your shrine br Have sung this hymn, and here entreat br One spark of your diviner heat br To light upon a love of mine.