A DAIGNTIE-CONSEATED SONNET.
[To his Friend, Master E. D., upon occasion of his enriching
him with some honey'd posies of his most sweetlie-flow'ring
Phansie, sendeth his lovg. Friend and indebted Servt.]
Like as an oyster, when some secret wound,
Smarting, his tender jellies doth amate,
All pretiousnesse, the close-shut grief around,
From forth the wealthful ooze will segregate:
So thou, fair casket of concealéd grace,
Strivest thy pearls, like blusht-for tears, to hide,
And dark-engulft from bright Apollo's face
Dost in thy shell too proudlie close abide.
But I, a diver in the unruffled deep,
Where thy shut shell doth covetise invite,
Ponder what glorious harvest I shall reap,
Bringing thy hidden threasures to the light.
Dost fear my hands' rude grasp, sweet oister? Well,
Give me thy pearls, Ile let thee keep thy shell.
