 | Du Bartas
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Sonnet 2.
Thou, whose sweet eloquence doth make me mute;
Whose sight doth blinde me; and whose nimbleness
Of feet in dance, and fingers on the Lute,
In deep amazes makes me motion-less:
Whose onely presence from my selfe absents me;
Whose pleasant humours, make me passionate;
Whose sober moods my follies represent me;
Whose graue-milde graces make me emulate:
My heart, through whom, my heart is none of mine;
My All, through whom, I nothing do possess
Saue thine Idea, glorious and divine:
O thou my Peace-like War, and war-like Peace,
So much the wounds that thou hast giuen me, please,
Thst't is my best ease never to have ease.
| Du Bartas
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