Sonnet 99

OH teares, no teares, but shoures from beauties skies,
Making those Lilies and those Roses growe,
VVhich aie most faire now fairer needs must show,
VVhile grateful pitty Beauty beautifies,
Oh minded sighs that from that breast doe rise,
VVhose pants doe make vnspilling Creame to slow,
VVinged with woes breath so doth Zephire blow
As might refresh the hel where my soule fries,
Oh plaints conseru'd in such a sugred phrase,
That eloquence enuies, and yet doth praise,
VVhile sightd out words a perfect musicke giue:
Such teares, sighs, plaints, no sorrow is, but ioy:
Or if such heauenly sighs must proue annoy,
All mirth farewel, let me in sorrow liue.