O how I
faint
when I of you do
write,
Knowing a better
spirit
doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his
might,
To make me
tongue-tied
speaking of your fame.
But since your worth,
wide
as the
ocean
is,
The humble as the
proudest
sail doth bear,
My saucy bark, inferior far to his,
On your broad main doth willfully
appear.
Your
shallowest
help will hold me up
afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless
deep
doth ride;
Or, being wracked, I am a
worthless boat,
He of
tall building
and of
goodly pride.
Then, if he
thrive
and I be cast away,
The worst was this:
my
love
was my decay.