Delia: Sonnet 6

FAyre is my loue, and cruell as sh'is fayre;
Her brow shades frowns, althogh her eyes are sunny;
Her smyles are lightning, though her pride dispaire;
And her disdaines are gall, her fauours hunny.
A modest mayde, deckt with a blush of honour,
Whose feet do tread greene pathes of youth & loue,
The wonder of all eyes that looke vpon her:
Sacred on earth, design'd a Saint aboue.
Chastity and Beauty, which were deadly foes,
Liue reconciled friends within her brow:
And had she pitty to conioyne with those,
Then who had heard the plaints I vtter now.
O had shee not beene fayre, and thus vnkind,
My Muse had slept, & none had knowne my minde.