| Sonnett |
|
|
| What fier encreaste by rage of wynde |
|
|
| The Lytle droppes off raine that fall from hye |
|
|
| But this and then no more |
|
|
| Sonnet |
|
|
| To the greate Macedon my fayre Queene I compare |
|
|
| Her Face, Her Tongue, Her Wit |
|
|
| Shee that holdes me under the lawes of love |
|
|
| Whilste hope high Honnors place to have |
|
|
| Myne eyes thinke yow that still myne eyes yow are |
|
|