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So far from cheer and from your former state. And from her fair and unpolluted flesh It is supposed, the fair creature died,-- Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye, The most replenished sweet work of nature Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismay'd: Have no delight to pass away the time, Why did you laugh then, when I said 'Man delights not me'? But cheer thy heart and be thou not dismay'd: Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! Now seeming sweet, convert to bitter gall. Holy King Henry, and thy fair son Edward,