Pamela.
Like divers flowers, whose divers beauties serve
To decke the earth with his well-colourde weede,
Though each of them, his private forme preserve,
Yet joyning formes one sight of beautie breede.
Right so my thoughts, where on my hart I feede:
Right so my inwarde partes, and outward glasse,
Though each possesse a divers working kinde,
Yet all well knit to one faire end do passe:
That he to whome, these sondrie giftes I binde
All what I am, still one, his owne, doe finde.
Musidorus.
All what you are still one, his owne to finde,
You that are borne to be the worldes eye,
What were it els, but to make each thing blinde?
And to the sunne with waxen winges to flie?
No no, such force with my small force to trye
Is not my skill, or reach of mortall minde.
Call me but yours, my title is most hye:
Holde me most yours, then my longe suite is signde.
You none can clayme but you your selfe aright,
For you do passe your selfe, in vertues might.
So both are yours: I, bound with gaged harte:
You onely yours, too farr beyond desarte.