Sonnet 27.

RAising my hope on hills of high desire,
Thinking to scale the heauen of her hart,
My slender meane presumes too high a part:
For disdaines thunderbolt made me retire,

And threw me downe to paine in all this fire.
Where lo I languish in so heauie smart,
Because th'attempt was far aboue my Art,
Hir state brooks not poore soules should come so nie hir.

Yet I protest my high aspiring will,
Was not to dispossesse hir of hir right,
Hir Soueraigntie should haue remained still,
I onely sought the blisse, to haue hir sight:
Hir sight contented thus to see me spill,
Fram'd my desires fit for hir eies to kill.