My lookes haue made a Sunne of your sweete eine, My soule doth drawe his essence from your powres: (35) And what I am, in fortune or in loue, All those haue sworne, to serue for your behoue.
My sences sucke their comforts from your sweete, My inward minde, your outward faire admires; My hope lies prostrate at your pities feete, (40) My hart, lookes, soule, sence, minde, and hope desires; Beleefe, and fauour, in your louely sight, Els all will cease to liue, and pen to write.
T. L. Gent.
F Vll fraught with vnrecomptles sweete, +Of your faire face that stole mine eie, No gladsome day my lookes did greete, Wherein I wisht not willingly; (5) Mine eies were shut I might not see, A Ladie of lesse maiestie.
What most I like, I neuer minde, And so on you haue fixt my thoughts, That others sights doe make me blinde, (10) And what I see but you is noughts; By vse and custome thus you see, Another nature liues in mee.
The more I looke, the more I loue, The more I thinke, the more I thriue, (15) No obiect can my looke remoue, No thought can better thoughts reuiue, For what I see or thinke, I finde, Exceedeth sight or thought of minde.
Since then your lookes, haue stolne mine eies, (20) And eies content to nourish loue,