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 SONNET IX.

Reign in my thoughts! fair hand! sweet eye! rare voice! Possess me whole, my heart's Triumvirate! Yet heavy heart! to make so hard a choice Of such as spoil thy whole afflicted state.

For whilst they strive which shall be Lord of all, All my poor life by them is trodden down: They all erect their triumphs on my fall, And yield me nought; who gains them there renown.

When back I look, and sigh my freedom past, And wail the state wherein I present stand, And see my fortune ever like to last: Finding me reined with such a cruel hand, What can I do but yield? and yield I do; And serve them all, and yet they spoil me too!

SONNET X.

The sly Enchanter, when to work his will And secret wrong on some forespoken wight; Frames wax in form to represent aright The poor unwitting wretch he means to kill: And pricks the image, framed by magic's skill, Whereby to vex the party day and night. Like hath she done, whose show bewitched my sight To beauty's charms, her lover's blood to spill. For first, like wax she framed me by her eyes; Whose "Nays!" sharp-pointed set upon my breast Martyr my life; and plague me in this wise With ling'ring pain to perish in unrest. Nought could, save this, my sweetest fair suffice, To try her art on him that loves her best.