SONNET XXXI.
THese waves no way in her to sink can find; To penetrate the pith of contemplation. These tears cannot dissolve her hardened mind, Nor move her heart on me to take compassion. O then, poor Corin, scorned and quite despised, Loathe now to live! since life procures my woe. Enough thou hast thy heart anatomised, For her sweet sake which will no pretty show. But as cold winter's storms and nipping frosts Can never change sweet Amaranthus' hue; So, though my love and life by her are crossed, My heart shall still be constant firm and true! Although Erinnyes hinder Hymen's rites, My fixèd faith against oblivion fights.
SONNET XXXII.
MY fixèd faith against oblivion fights; And I cannot forget her, pretty Elf! Although she cruel be unto my plights; Yet let me rather clean forget myself, Than her sweet name out of my mind should go: Which is th' elixir of my pining soul; From whence the essence of my life doth flow. Whose beauty rare, my senses all control; Themselves most happy evermore accounting That such a Nymph is Queen of their affection: With ravished rage, they to the skies are mounting; Esteeming not their thraldom nor subjection. But still do joy amidst their misery; With patience bearing Love's captivity.