Sonnet 12

CVpid because thou shin'st in Stellas eyes,
That from her lookes thy dimnesse nowe scapes free:
That those lips swelde so full of thee they be.
That sweet breath maketh oft the flames to rise,
That in her brest thy pap well sugred lyes,
That grace euen makes thy gracious wrongs; that she,
What word so ere shee speakes, perswades for thee:
That her cleere voice, lifteth the Sunne to Skyes.
Thou countest Stella thine, like those whose powres
Hauing got vp a breach, (by fighting well)
Cry victory, this happy day is ours:
Oh no, her heart is such a Cytadell.
So fortified with wit, stor'd with disdaine:
That to winne it, is all the skill and paine.