THe heavens beheld the beauty of my Queen; And all amazed, to wonder thus began: "Why dotes not Jove, as erst we all have seen, And shapes himself like to a seemly man? Mean are the matches which he sought before; Like bloomless buds, too base to make compare: And she alone hath treasured Beauty's store; In whom all gifts and princely graces are." Cupid replied, "I posted with the sun To view the Maids that lived in all those days: And none there was that might not well be won, But She; most hard, most cold, made of delays." Heavens were deceived, and wrong they do esteem; She hath no heat, although She living seem.
SONNET IV.
LOve and my Love did range the forest wild, Mounted alike upon swift coursers both. Love her encountered, though he was a child, "Let's strive!" said he. Whereat my Love was wroth; And scorned the boy, and checked him with a smile. "I mounted am, and armèd with my spear. Thou art too weak! Thyself do not beguile! I could thee conquer, if I naked [unarmed] were!" With this Love wept, and then my Love replied: "Kiss me, sweet boy, so! Weep, my boy, no more!" Thus did my Love, and thus her force she tried: Love was made ice, that fire was before. A kiss of hers (as I, poor soul, do prove) Can make the hottest, freeze; and coldest love.