Delia: Sonnet 26

WHilst by her eyes pursu'd, my poore hart flew it,
Into the sacred bosome of my deerest:
Shee there in that sweet sanctuarie slew it,
Where it presum'd his safetie to be neerest.
My priuiledge of faith could not protect it,
That was with blood & three yeres witnes signed:
In all which time shee neuer could suspect it,
For well shee sawe my loue, and how I pined.
And yet no comfort would her brow reueale me,
No lightning looke, which falling hopes erecteth;
What bootes to lawes of succour to appeale mee?
Ladies and Tyrants, neuer lawes respecteth.
Then there I die, where hop'd I to haue liuen;
And by that hand, which better might haue giuen.