Page:Elizabethan sonnet-cycles.djvu/125



prison I am in is thy fair face,

Wherein my liberty enchainèd lies;

My thoughts, the bolts that hold me in the place;

My food, the pleasing looks of thy fair eyes.

Deep is the prison where I lie enclosed,

Strong are the bolts that in this cell contain me;

Sharp is the food necessity imposed,

When hunger makes me feed on that which pains me.

Yet do I love, embrace, and follow fast,

That holds, that keeps, that discontents me most;

And list not break, unlock, or seek to waste

The place, the bolts, the food, though I be lost;

Better in prison ever to remain,

Than being out to suffer greater pain.