O why should nature nigardly restraine, The Sotherne Nations relish not our tongue, Else should my lines glide on the waues of Rhene, And crowne the Pirens with my liuing song; But bounded thus to Scotland get you forth: Thence take you wing vnto the Orcades, There let my verse get glory in the North, Making my sighs to thawe the frozen seas, And let the Bards within the Irish Ile, To whom my Muse with fiery wings shall passe, Call backe the stifneckd rebels from exile, And molifie the slaughtering Galliglasse: And when my flowing numbers they rehearse, Let Wolues and Bears be charmed with my verse. Sonet 27 I gaue my faith to Loue, Loue his to mee, That hee and I, sworne brothers should remaine, Thus fayth receiu'd, fayth giuen back againe, Who would imagine bond more sure could be? Loue flies to her, yet holds he my fayth taken, Thus from my vertue raiseth my offence, Making me guilty by mine innocence; And surer bond by beeing so forsaken, He makes her aske what I before had vow'd, Giuing her that, which he had giuen me, I bound by him, and he by her made free, Who euer so hard breach of fayth alow'd? Speake you that should of right and wrong discusse, Was right ere wrong'd, or wrong ere righted thus? Sonet 29 _To the Sences_ When conquering loue did first my hart assaile, Vnto mine ayde I summond euery sence, Doubting if that proude tyrant should preuaile, My hart should suffer for mine eyes offence; But he with beauty, first corrupted sight, My hearing bryb'd with her tongues harmony, My taste, by her sweet lips drawne with delight, My smelling wonne with her breaths spicerie; But when my touching came to play his part, (The King of sences, greater than the rest) That yeelds loue up the keyes vnto my hart, And tells the other how they should be blest; And thus by those of whom I hop'd for ayde, To cruell Loue my soule was first betrayd. Sonet 30 _To the Vestalls_ Those Priests, which first the Vestall fire begun, Which might be borrowed from no earthly flame, Deuisd a vessell to receiue the sunne, Beeing stedfastly opposed to the same; Where with sweet wood laid curiously by Art, Whereon the sunne might by reflection beate, Receiuing strength from euery secret part, The fuell kindled with celestiall heate. Thy blessed eyes, the sunne which lights this fire, My holy thoughts, they be the Vestall flame, The precious odors be my chast desire, My breast the fuell which includes the same; Thou art my Vesta, thou my Goddesse art, Thy hollowed Temple, onely is my hart. Sonet 31