Delia: Sonnet 39

O Be not grieu'd that these my papers should
Bewray vnto the world how faire thou art:
Or that my wits haue shewed the best they could.
(The chastest flame that euer warmed hart.)
Thinke not (sweet DELIA,) this shall be thy shame,
My Muse should sound thy praise with mournefull warble,
How many liue, the glory of whose name,
Shall rest in Ise, when thine is grau'd in Marble.
Thou maist in after ages liue esteem'd,
Vnburied in these lines reseru'd in purenes;
These shall intombe those eyes, that haue redeem'd
Mee from the vulgar, thee from all obscurenes.
Although my carefull accents neuer moou'd thee,
Yet count it no disgrace that I haue lou'd thee.