IF in the midst of kindling burning fire, That worthy Roman burnt his valiant hand; I like another Mutius in desire, Have scorched my fist likewise, through Love's command, In freshest moisture; where my Lady sweet, Her lily hands, for coolness, divèd oft. But though desire between us was alike; Yet was the matter diverse which we sought. He chose to burn his hand, with courage bold, In flaming fire; and I, in water cold.
XXIII.
THe Gentiles used, in sign of sacrifice, The blood of men to offer; to appease The warlike goddess's wrath, in humble wise; And through the same, her angry mind did please: But Thou, more wicked Warrior far than she, In reason may'st more cruel termed be. On Beauty's altar, to thee dedicate; Thousands of Lovers, mustering on a row, Offer their blood and hearts! yet mitigate Thy hardened mind cannot: which flint doth show. Then is she cruel less than Thou art now: Since blood her pleased; and Thee hearts cannot bow.
XXIV.
FOr to behold my Sun, I from the sun Did seek my face to shadow with my hand, To shield me from the heat, that 'gan to come In place, where gazing on her I did stand. But I no sooner from that sun was free, But that, in that self instant and that time, I, of mine own Sun, found myself to be Burnt with the heat; a most unlucky sign. So whilst a shade from sun did me defend, A Sun more hot did hurt me in the end.