SONNET XL.
NO art nor force can unto pity move Her stony heart, that makes my heart to pant: No pleading passions of my extreme love Can mollify her mind of adamant. Ah, cruel sex, and foe to all mankind! Either you love, or else you hate, too much! A glist'ring show of gold in you we find; And yet you prove but copper in the touch. But why? O why, do I so far digress? Nature you made of pure and fairest mould, The pomp and glory of Man to depress; And as your slaves in thraldom them to hold: Which by experience now too well I prove, There is no pain unto the pains of love.
SONNET XLI.
FAir Shepherdess, when as these rustic lines Come to thy sight, weigh but with what affection Thy servile doth depaint his sad designs; Which to redress, of thee he makes election. If so you scorn, you kill; if you seem coy, You wound poor Corin to the very heart; If that you smile, you shall increase his joy; If these you like, you banish do all smart: And this I do protest, most fairest Fair, My Muse shall never cease that hill to climb, To which the learned Muses do repair! And all to deify thy name in rhyme. And never none shall write with truer mind As by all proof and trial you shall find.