When you are Mistresse of the song,
Mighty Queen, to thinke it long,
Were treason 'gainst that Majestie
Your vertue wears. Your modestie
Yet thinks it so. But ev'n that too
(Infinite, since part of You)
New matter to our Muse supplies,
And so allows what it denies.
Say then, dread Queen, how may we do
To mediate 'twixt your self and You,
That so our sweetly temper'd song
Nor be too short, nor seem too long?
Needs must your Noble praises strength
That made it long, excuse the length.
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