LOve, with her hair, my Love by force hath tied; To serve her lips, her eyes, her voice, her hand. I smiled for joy when I the boy espied To lie unchained, and live at her command. She, if She look, or kiss, or sing, or smile; Cupid withal doth smile, doth sing, doth kiss. Lips, hands, voice, eyes, all hearts that may beguile; Because She scorns, all hearts but only this. Venus for this in pride began to frown, That Cupid, born a god, inthralled should be: She, in disdain, her pretty son threw down; And in his place, with love she chainèd me. So now, sweet Love, tho' I myself be thrall; Not her a goddess, but thyself, I call.
SONNET VI.
MY Love, amazed, did blush herself to see, Pictured by Art, all naked as she was. "How could the Painter know so much by me, Or Art effect what he hath brought to pass? It is not like, he naked me hath seen; Or stood so nigh for to observe so much." No, Sweet, his eyes so near have never been; Nor could his hands by Art have cunning such: I showed my heart, wherein you printed were; You, naked you, as here you painted are. In that, my Love, your picture I must wear; And show 't to all, unless you have more care: Then take my heart, and place it with your own! So shall you naked never more be known.
SONNET VII.
