“Mistress, behold, in this true-speaking glass”

Mistress, behold, in this true-speaking glass
Thy beauty's graces, of all women rarest,
Where thou mayst find how largely they surpass
And stain in glorious loveliness the fairest.
But read, sweet mistress, and behold it nearer,
Pond'ring my sorrow's outrage with some pity;
Then shalt thou find no worldly creature dearer
Than thou to me, thyself in each love ditty.
But in this mirror equally compare
Thy matchless beauty with mine endless grief;
There like thyself none can be found so fair,
Of chiefest pains there, are my pains the chief.
Betwixt these both, this one doubt shalt thou find:
Whether are here extremest in their kind.