Sonnet XLII: For if alone thou thinke to waft

For if alone thou thinke to waft my love,
Her cold is such as can the sea commaund.
And frolen Ice shall let thy boate to move,
Nor can thy forces rowe it from the land.
But if thou friendly both at once shalt take,
Thy selfe mayst rest for why my sighes will blowe.
Our colde and heate so sweete a thawe shall make,
As that thy boate without thy helpe shall rowe.
Then will I sitte and glut me on those eyes,
Where with my life, my eyes could never fill.
Thus from thy boate, that comfort shall arise,
The want whereof my life and hope did kill.
Together plac'd so thou her skorne shalt crosse,
Where if we part, thy boate must suffer losse.