Sonnet 32

MOrpheus the liuely sonne of deadlie Sleepe,
Witnes of life to them that liuing die:
A Prophet oft of hidden mysterie;
A Poet eake as humors flye and creepe:
Since thou in me so sure a hold doost keepe,
That neuer I with clos'd vp sence doe lye,
But by thy worke, my Stella I discry,
Teaching blind eyes both how to smile and weepe;
Vouchsafe of all acquaintance this to tell,
Whence hast thou Iuorie, Rubies, Pearle, and Golde,
To shew her skin, lips, teeth, and head so well?
(Foole aunswers he) no Indes such treasures hold,
But from thy hart, while my Sire charmeth thee,
Sweete Stellas Image I doe steale to me.