Sonnet 101

WHere be those Roses, which so sweetned earst our eies?
VVhere be those red cheekes, which fair increase did frame
No hight of honor in the kindly badge of shame,
VVho hath the crimson weeds stoln frō the morning skies?
How doth the coullor fade of those vermillion eies,
VVhich Nature self did make and self engraue the same?
I would know by what right this palenes ouercame
That hue, whose force my heart in so great thraldome ties?
Gallens adopted sonnes, who by a beaten way
Their iudgements hackney on, the fault of sicknes lay:
But feeling proofe makes me say, they mistake it sure,
It is but loue that makes this paper perfect white,
To write therein more fresh the storie of Delight,
VVhiles Beauties reddest incke Venus for him doth stir.