To Miracle. Sonnet 35 (Sonnet 35)

SOme misbelieuing, and prophane in loue,
When I doe speake of miracles by thee,
May say that thou art flattered by mee,
Who onelie write, my skill in verse to proue.
See miracles, ye vnbeleeuing see,
A dumb-borne Muse, made to expresse the minde,
A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kinde,
One by thy name, the other touching thee;
Blinde were mine eies, till they were seene of thine,
And mine eares deafe, by thy fame healed be,
My vices curde, by vertues sprung from thee,
My hopes reuiu'd which long in graue had liue:
All vncleane thoughts, foule spirits cast out in mee,
Onely by vertue that proceedes from thee.