Funeral dolors
rather than bridal carols inspire even the harp of David, beloved of
the Lord; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost toucheth ever the
shadowed phases of our earthly lives.
I am minded to now advert to another topic from the tale told me by
Southampton that thou wert presently to publish a volume of thy
sugared sonnets. May I pray thee that this collection compass not
the two sonnets written by thee for me in laud of our Queen
Elizabeth, and the one of this morning? As thou knowest, these first
were presented to our gracious Sovereign as mine own, and did so
pleasure her as to chiefly prosper my advancement. Were the true
author now known it might sadly mar my fortunes. In the vastness of
thy riches, the absence of these gems shall not be noted. The loss
of a star dims not the splendor of the constellations. The glorious
sun seeks not to reclaim the lustre his rays have given to the tiny
dewdrop. Withal I have rendered to thee somewhat of recompense as I
have spoken at sundry times to her gracious Majesty and to our
present anointed Sovereign of thy dramas, and fostered as best I
might thy interests when they crossed not mine own. So I trust this
boon may be awarded me, and that my borrowed splendors may not be
stripped away. Thy immeasurable superiority, as again evidenced in
the sonnet to the Lady Mary, has fixed anew my resolve as to my
predestined field of labor.
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