Sonnet 42

FAire eyes, sweet lips, deere hart, that foolish I
Could hope by Cupids helpe, on you to pray:
Since to himselfe he doth your gifts apply,
As his maine force, chiefe sport, and easefull stay.
For when he will see who dare him gainesay,
Then with those eyes he lookes, loe by and by,
Each soule doth at Loues feete his weapons lay,
Glad if for her he giue them leaue to die.
When he will play, then in her lips his eye,
Where blushing red, that Loues selfe them doe loue,
With either lip he doth the other kisse;
But when he will for quiets sake remoue
From all the world, her hart is then his roome:
Where well he knowes, no man to him can come.