He feeds his eyes, but understanding lacks
To comprehend the worth of all those knacks.
The glittering plate and jewels he admires,
The hats and fans, the plumes and ladies' attires,
And thousand times his amazéd mind doth wish
Some part, at least, of that brave wealth were his;
But seeing empty wishes naught obtain,
At night turns to his mother's cot again,
And tells her tales, his full heart over-glad,
Of all the glorious sights his eyes have had,
But finds too soon his want of eloquence.
The silly prattler speaks no word of sense,
But seeing utterance fail his great desires,
Sits down in silence, deeply he admires.
Thus weak-brained I, reading thy lofty style,
Thy profound learning, viewing other while
Thy art in natural philosophy,
Thy saint-like mind in grave divinity,
Thy piercing skill in high astronomy,
And curious insight in anatomy,
Thy physic, music, and state policy,
Valor in war, in peace good husbandry.
Sure liberal nature did with art not small
In all the arts make thee most liberal.
A thousand thousand times my senseless senses
Moveless stand, charmed by thy sweet influences,
More senseless than the stones to Amphion's lute;
Mine eyes are sightless, and my tongue is mute,