MY Love lay sleeping where birds music made, Shutting her eyes, disdainful of the light: The heat was great; but greater was the shade Which her defended from his burning sight. This Cupid saw, and came a kiss to take; Sucking sweet nectar from her sugared breath. She felt the touch, and blushed, and did awake. Seeing 'twas Love, which she did think was Death, She cut his wings, and causèd him to stay; Making a vow, he should not thence depart Unless to her, the wanton boy could pay The truest, kindest, and most loving heart. His feathers still She usèd for a fan; Till, by exchange, my heart his feathers wan.
SONNET XV.
I stood amazed, and saw my Licia shine Fairer than Phœbus in his brightest pride; Set forth in colours by a hand divine, Where naught was wanting but a soul to guide. It was a picture that I could descry, Yet made with art so as it seemed to live; Surpassing fair, and yet it had no eye: Whereof my senses could no reason give. With that the Painter bid me not to muse, "Her eyes are shut; but I deserve no blame: For if she saw, in faith, it could not choose But that the work had wholly been aflame." Then burn me, Sweet, with brightness of your eyes; That, Phœnix-like, from thence I may arise.
SONNET XVI.
