Sonnet 31

WHo hath not seen into her saffran Bed
The Mornings Goddess mildly her repose,
Or her of whose pure bloud first sprang the Rose
Lull'd in a slumber by a Mirtle shade?
Who hath not seen that sleeping white and red
Makes Phoebe look so pale, which she did close
In that Jonian Hill, to ease her woes,
Which only lives by her deare kisses fed?
Come but and see my Lady sweetly sleep,
The sighing Rubies of those heavenly lips,
The Cupids which brests golden Apples keep,
Those Eyes which shine in midst of their Ecclipse:
And he them all shall see, perhaps and prove
She waking but perswades, now forceth Love.