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His flames are joys, his bands true lovers' might,
No stain is there, but pure, as purest white,
Where no cloud can appear to dim his light
Nor spot defile, but shame will soon requite.
Here are affections, tried by lovers just might
As Gold by fire, and black discern'd by white;
Error by truth, and darkness known by light,
Where faith is valu'd, for love to requite.
Please him, and serve him, glory in his might
And firm he'll be, as innocency white,
Clear as th'ayre, warm as Sun's beams, as day light
Just as truth, constant as Fate, joy'd be to requite.
Then love, obey, strive to observe his might
And be in his brave Court a glorious light.

--Lady Mary Wroth

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