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SONNET. X.

THus was my loue, thus was my Ganymed,
(Heauens ioy, worlds wonder, natures fairest work,
In whose aspect Hope and Dispaire doe lurke)
Made of pure blood in whitest snow yshed,
And for sweete Venus only form'd his face,
And his each member delicately framed,
And last of all faire Ganymede him named,
His limbs (as their Creatrix) her imbrace.
But as for his pure, spotles, vertuous minde,
Because it sprung of chaste Dianaes blood,
(Goddesse of Maides, directresse of all good,)
Hit wholy is to chastity inclinde.
And thus it is: as far as I can proue,
He loues to be beloued, but not to loue.

SONNET XI.

SIghing, and sadly sitting by my Loue,
He ask't the cause of my hearts sorrowing,
Coniuring me by heauens eternall King
To tell the cause which me so much did moue.
Compell'd: (quoth I) to thee will I confesse,
Loue is the cause; and only loue it is
That doth depriue me of my heauenly blisse.
Loue is the paine that doth my heart oppresse.
And what is she (quoth he) whom thou dos't loue?
Looke in this glasse (quoth I) there shalt thou see
The perfect forme of my felicitie.
When, thinking that it would strange Magique proue,
He open'd it: and taking of the couer,
He straight perceau'd himselfe to be my Louer.