That light we see is burning in my hall
That light we see is burning in my hall.
How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world. 100
When the moon shone we did not see the candle.
So doth the greater glory dim the less.
A substitute shines brightly as a king
Until a king be by, and then his state
Empties itself as doth an inland brook 105
Into the main of waters. Music, hark!
It is your music, madam, of the house.
Nothing is good, I see, without respect.
Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day.
Silence bestows that virtue on it, madam. 110
The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark
When neither is attended, and I think
The nightingale, if she should sing by day
When every goose is cackling, would be thought
No better a musician than the wren. 115
How many things by season seasoned are
To their right praise and true perfection!
Peace—how the moon sleeps with Endymion
And would not be awaked!