Followe thy faire sunne unhappy shaddowe, Though thou be blacke as night And she made all of light, Yet follow thy faire sunne unhappie shaddowe.
Follow her whose light thy light depriveth, Though here thou liv´st disgrac´t, And she in heaven is plac´t, Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth.
Follow those pure beams whose beautie burneth, That so have scorched thee, As thou still blacke must bee, Til her kind beames thy black to brightnes turneth.