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- # SONNETS.
To finde where your true Image pictur’d lies,
Which in my bofomes shop is hanging fill,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eves:
Now see what good-turnes eyes for eies haue done,
Mine eyes haue drawne thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breft, where-through the Sun
Delights to peepe, to gaze therein on thee
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their are
They draw but what they see, know not the liars.
## 25
I Et thofe who are in favor with their stars,
Of publike honour and proud titles boit,
Whilft I whome fortune of such triumph bars,
Vulookt for iny in that I honour n off;
Great Princes fauntites their faire leaues spread,
But as the Marygold at the funs eye,
And in them-selues their pridities buried,
For at a frowne they in their glory die.
The painefull warrior famofed for worth,
After a thouland victories once foild,
Is from the booke of honour rafed quite,
And all the rett forgot for which he roilds
Then happy I that loue and am beloued
Where I may not remoue, nor be remoued.
## 26
I Ord of my loue, to whome in vaffalage
Thy merit hath my cutie strongly knit;
To thee I send this written ambaffage
To witneffe duty, not to shew my wit.
Duty so great, which wit so poore as mine
May make feeme bare, in wanting words to shew it;
But that I hope some good conceipt of thine
In thy foules thought (all naked) will bestow its
Til whatsoever star that guides my mouing,
Points on me graciously with faire aspect,
And puts apparell on my tottered louing,
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