SONNET. VI.
Weet Corrall lips, where Nature's treasure lies,
The balme of blisse, the soueraigne salue of sorrow,
The secret touch of loues heart-burning arrow,
Come quench my thirst or els poor Daphnis dies.
One night I dream'd (alas twas but a Dreame)
That I did feele the sweetnes of the same,
Where-with inspir'd, I young againe became,
And from my heart a spring of blood did streame.
But when I wak't, I found it nothing so,
Saue that my limbs (me thought) did waxe more strong
And I more lusty far, and far more yong.
This gift on him rich Nature did bestow.
Then if in dreaming so, I so did speede,
What should I doe, if I did so indeede?
SONNET. VII.
Weet Thames I honour thee, not for thou art
The chiefest Riuer of the fairest Ile,
Nor for thou dost admirers eies beguile,
But for thou hold'st the keeper of my heart,
For on thy waues, (thy Christal-billow'd waues,)
My fairest faire, my siluer Swan is swimming:
Against the sunne his pruned feathers trimming:
Whilst Neptune his faire feete with water laues,
Neptune, I feare not thee, not yet thine eie,
And yet (alas) Apollo lou'd a boy,
And Cyparissus was Siluanus ioy.
No, no, I feare none but faire Thetis, I,
For if she spie my Loue, (alas) aie me,
My mirth is turn'd to extreame miserie.
