Wittes Pilgrimage, Sonnet 26

THe sweetnesse (Sweete) which in thy loue I feele,
Sweetens the sorrow which, through it, I tast:
It mee vpholds, as It doth make me reele;
And, doth enlarge my Heart, which It doth wast.
LOVE, though Thou kill me, yet, I must confesse
Thou hast disbur'sd my Loue where it is due:
And though it boundlesse be, yet is it lesse
Then to my Loues worth doth, 'of right, accrue!
And though thou bee a Spectacle, through which
Each grace seemes greater then, in deede, it is:
Yet, setled Iudgment mounts hir prices Pitch:
For, Heau'n and Earth do offer faire for This!
Then, sith Thou art more Faire then Eyes can see,
Ile offer Thee as faire (my Soule) for Thee,