Sonnet XXIII: My love was maskt, and armed with

My love was maskt, and armed with a fanne,
To see the Sunne so carelesse of his light,
Which stood and gaz'd, and gazing, waxed wanne,
To see a starre, himselfe that was more bright.
Some did surmize, she hidde her from the sunne:
Of whome, in pride, she scorn'd for to be kist:
Or fear'd the harme, by him to others done,
But these the reason of this woonder mist,
Nor durst the Sunne, if that her face were bare,
In greatest pride, presume to take a kisse:
But she more kinde, did shew she had more care,
Then with her eyes, eclypse him of his blisse,
Vnmaske you (sweet) and spare not, dimme the sunne:
Your light's ynough, although that his were done.