BRIDEGROOME.
Sonet VI.
1
Thou soveraigne Lady of my select desires,
I, I am He, whom thy chaste soule admires:
The Rose, for smell, the Lily to the eye,
Is not so sweet, is not so faire as I:
My vailed beautie's not the glorious prize
Of common sight:
within, my beautie lies,
Yet ne'rethelesse, my glory were but small,
It should want, to honour thee with all.
2
Nor doe I boast my excellence alone,
But thine (deare spouse) as whō, the world hath none
So true to faith, so pure in love, as whom
Lives not a Bride, so fits so chaste a Grome;
And as the fairest Lily doth exceede
The fruitlesse Bramble, or the foulest weede,
So farre (my love) dost thou exceed the rest,
In perfect beautie of a loyall brest.
