Sonnet 12.

THe tablet of my heauie fortunes heere
Vpon thine Altare (Paphian Power) I place;
The greeuous shipwracke of my trauels deere
In bulged barke, all perisht in disgrace.

That traitor Loue, was Pilot to my woe,
My Sailes were hope, spread with my sighs of griefe,
The twinelights which my haples course did show,
Hard by th'inconstant sands of false reliefe,

VVhere two bright starres which led my view apart,
A Sirens voice allur'd me come so neare,
To perish on the marble of her hart,
A danger which my soule did neuer feare:
Lo thus he fares that trusts a calme too much;
And thus fare I whose credit hath beene such.