To the Lady L. S (Sonnet 64)

BRight starre of Beauty, on whose cie-lids sit,
A thousand Nymph-like and enamoured graces,
The goddesses of memorie and wit,
which in due order take their seuerall places,
In whose deere bosome, sweete delicious loue,
Layes downe his quiuer, that he once did beare,
Since he that blessed Paradice did proue,
Forsooke his mothers lap to sport him there.
Let others striue to entertaine with wordes,
My soule is of another temper made;
I holde it vile that vulgar wit affords,
Deuouring time my faith shall not inuade:
Still let my praise be honoured thus by you,
Be you most worthie, whilst I be most true.