Delia: Sonnet 14

THose snary locks, are those same nets (my Deere,)
Where-with my libertie thou didst surprize;
Loue was the flame that fired me so neere,
The Dart transpearsing, were those Christall eyes.
Strong is the net, and feruent is the flame;
Deepe is the wound my sighes doe well report:
Yet doe I loue, adore, and praise the same,
That holds, that burnes, that wounds me in this sort.
And list not seeke to breake, to quench, to heale,
The bond, the flame, the wound that festreth so,
By knife, by liquor, or by salue to deale:
So much I please to perrish in my woe.
Yet least long trauailes be aboue my strength,
Good DELIA lose, quench, heale me now at length.