Sonnet 96

DIan that faine would cheare her friend the Night,
Doth shewe her oft at full her fairest face,
Bringing with her those starrie Nymphs, whose chace
From heauenly standing hurts eche mortall wight.
But ah poore Night in loue with Phoebus light,
And endlesly dispairing of his grace,
Her selfe to shewe no other ioy hath place,
Sylent and sad in moorning weeds doth dight:
Euen so (alas) a Ladie Dians peere,
VVith choise delight and rarest company,
VVould faine driue clouds from out my heauie cheere:
But woe is mee, though ioy her selfe were shee,
Shee could not shewe my blind braine waies of ioy
While I dispaire my Sunnes light to enioy.