WIth patience bearing Love's captivity, Themselves unguilty of his wrath alleging; These homely Lines, abjects of Poesy, For liberty and for their ransom pledging: And being free, they solemnly do vow Under his banner ever arms to bear Against those rebels, which do disallow That Love, of Bliss should be the sovereign Heir. And Chloris, if these weeping Truce-men may One spark of pity from thine eyes obtain, In recompense of their sad heavy Lay; Poor Corin shall thy faithful friend remain. And what I say, I ever will approve, "No joy may be comparèd to thy love!"
SONNET XXXIV.
THe bird of Thrace, which doth bewail her rape And murdered Itis eaten by his Sire, When she her woes in doleful tunes doth shape; She sets her breast against a thorny briar. Because care-charmer Sleep should not disturb The tragic tale which to the night she tells; She doth her rest and quietness thus curb, Amongst the groves where secret silence dwells. Even so I wake; and waking, wail all night. Chloris' unkindness, slumbers doth expel. I need not thorns, sweet sleep to put to flight. Her cruelty, my golden rest doth quell: That day and night to me are only one; Consumed in woe, in tears, in sighs, and moan.