Henry Howard (1517 – 19 January 1547 / Norfolk)
A Praise of His Love
Give place, ye lovers, here before
That spent your boasts and brags in vain;
My lady's beauty passeth more
The best of yours, I dare well sayn,
Than doth the sun the candle-light,
Or brightest day the darkest night.
And thereto hath a troth as just
As had Penelope the fair;
For what she saith, ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealed were;
And virtues hath she many mo
Than I with pen have skill to show.
I could rehearse, if that I wold,
The whole effect of Nature's plaint,
When she had lost the perfit mould,
The like to whom she could not paint;
With wringing hands, how she did cry,
And what she said, I know it, I.
I know she swore with raging mind,
Her kingdom only set apart,
There was no loss by law of kind,
That could have gone so near her heart;
And this was chiefly all her pain;
She could not make the like again.
Sith Nature thus gave her the praise,
To be the chiefest work she wrought;
In faith, methink, some better ways
On your behalf might well be sought,
Than to compare, as ye have done,
To match the candle with the sun.
Poet Other Poems
- A CARELESS MAN SCORNING AND DESCRIBING T...
- A CONSTANT LOVER LAMENTETH.
- A Praise of His Love
- A Satire against the citizens of London
- A SONG WRITTEN BY THE EARL OF SURREY
- A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY, HOWSOEVER HE B...
- Alas! So All Things Now Do Hold Their Pe...
- AN ANSWER IN THE BEHALF OF A WOMAN.
- AN EPITAPH ON CLERE, SURREY'S FAITHFUL F...
- Brittle Beauty
- Certain Books Of Virgil's AEneis: Book I...
- COMPLAINT OF A DYING LOVER
- Complaint of a Lover that Defied Love
- Complaint Of The Absence Of Her Lover Be...
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.