Sonneto 18

Namelesse the flower that workes my discontent,
Endlesse the cares for her I doe sustaine,
Waste is the soyle which shadowes my content

Once lende a salue to cure my curelesse paine.
Ah deere, how deere I purchase my delight?
Not longe when first I view’d thy sweetest fayre.

Except thy beauty lend my darknes light,
Long shall that looke my heauie lookes ympayre;

Esteeme of him that liues to honour thee,
Hopes true respose shall then be lodg’d in mee.