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Sonnet. 8.
[Though I wish to haue your fauour, which is such]
Though
I wish to haue your fauour, which is such,
That it is but for Gods, thinke you my Audâce,
Like his that in your steede, dyd a clowde imbrace:
Or his that was a harte, by seeing so much.
Or would you else because of my hautaine thought,
That I might augment the Sepulchres of Thrace:
Or that I were as the giant Briarâs:
Or paide lyke the wagoner so euelie taught.
No? lybertie, Rome, thy wrath the seas (Diân)
Greefe, Pirats? thy merie Must saue Ariôn.
Or if thou wylt none of these aforesayde thinges:
Because thou sayst that my mindes are set so high,
If thou thinkst I beginne lyke Icâr to flie:
Since th'eyes are my sonne, let thy loue be my winges.
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