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A Handful of Pleasant Delights/A proper Sonet, of an vnkinde Damsell, to her faithful Louer

A proper Sonet, of an vnkinde Damsell, to to her faithful Louer. To, the nine Muses.

THe ofter that I view and see,
That plesant face and faire beautie,
whereto my heart is bound:
The neer my Mistresse is to me,
My health is farthest off I see:
and fresher is my wound:
Like as the flame doth quench by fire,
or streams consume by raigne,
So doth the sight that I desire,
appease my grief and paine:
Like a flie that doth hie,
and haste into the fire:
So in brief, findes her grief,
that thought to sport aspire.

When first I saw those Christal streams,
I little thought on beauties beams:
sweet venom to haue found,
But wilful wil did prick me foorth,
Perforce to take my grief in woorth,
that causd my mortall wound:
And Cupid blind compeld me so,
my fruitlesse hope to hide:
Wherein remaind my bitter wo:
thus stil he did me guide?
Then his dart, to my hart,
he slung with cruell fist:
Whose poison fel, I know right wel,
no louer may resist.

Thus vainly stil, I frame my sute,
Of ill sowen seeds, such is the frute,
experience doth it show:
The fault is hers the pain is mine,
And thus my sentence I define,
I hapned on a shrow:
And now beware, ye yongmen all,
Example take by mee:
Least beauties bait in Cupids thrall,
do catch you priuily:
So stay you, I pray you,
and marke you my great wrong,
Forsaken, not taken,
thus end I now my song.