Sonnet 22

O Sacred Blush enpurpling Cheekes, pure skies
With crimson Wings which spred thee like the Morne,
O bashfull look sent from those shining eyes,
Which though slid down on Earth doth Heaven adorne.
O Tongue in which most lushious Nectar lies,
That can at once both blesse and make forlorne,
Deare corrall Lip which Beauty beautifies,
That trembling stood before her words were borne.
And you her Words, Words no, but golden Chaines
Which did inslave my eares, ensnare my soule,
Wise Image of her Mind, Mind that containes
A power all Power of Senses for to controule:
So sweetly you from Love disswade do me,
That I love more, if more my Love can be.