Ten Sonets to Philomel: Of his owne, and his Mistresse sicknesse at one time

Sicknesse entending my loue to betray,
Before I should sight of my deere obtaine:
Did his pale colours in my face display,
Lest that my fauour might her fauours gaine.
Yet not content herewith, like meanes it wrought,
My Philomels bright beauty to deface:
And natures glory to disgrace it sought,
That my conceiuèd loue it might displace.
But my firme loue could this assault well beare,
Which vertue had, not beauty for his ground.
And yet bright beames of beauty did appeare,
Through sicknesse vaile, which made my loue abound;
If sicke (thought I) her beauty so excell,
How matchlesse would it be if she were well.