Fidessa: Sonnet 41

The prison I am in is thy fair face,
Wherein my liberty enchainèd lies;
My thoughts, the bolts that hold me in the place;
My food, the pleasing looks of thy fair eyes.
Deep is the prison where I lie enclosed,
Strong are the bolts that in this cell contain me;
Sharp is the food necessity imposed,
When hunger makes me feed on that which pains me.
Yet do I love, embrace, and follow fast,
That holds, that keeps, that discontents me most;
And list not break, unlock, or seek to waste
The place, the bolts, the food, though I be lost;
Better in prison ever to remain,
Than being out to suffer greater pain.