Sonnet 79

SWeet swelling lip well maist thou swell in pride,
Since best wittes thinke it best thee to admire,
Natures praise, vertues stall, Cupids cold fire,
Whence words, not words but heauenly graces slyde,
The newe Pernassus where the Graces byde:
Sweetnes of Musique, Wisedomes beautifier,
Breather of life, and fastnesse of desire,
Where Beauties blush in Honors graine is dyde.
Thus much my heart my mouth compeld to say:
But now, spite of my heart my tongue will stay,
Loathing all lyes, doubting this flattrie is,
And no spurre can this restie race refraine;
Wherefore to trie if that I said be true,
How can I better proue then with a kisse?