Sonnet, 13.

MY Cinthia hath the waters of mine eies,
The reddie handmaides on hir grace attending,
That neuer falls to ebbe nor euer dies,
For to their flow shee neuer grants an ending.

The Ocean neuer doth attend more duly
Vpon his soueraigne, the night wandring Queene;
Nor euer hath his impost paid more truly,
Than mine to my soules Queene hath euer beene.

Yet her hard rocke firme fixt for ay remouing,
No comfort to my cares she euer giueth;
Yet had I rather languish in hir louing,
Than to imbrace the fairest shee that liueth.
I feare to find such pleasure in my raigning,
As now I tast in compasse of complaining.