Page:Elizabethan sonnet-cycles.djvu/52

 TO MIRACLE

misbelieving and profane in love,

When I do speak of miracles by thee,

May say that thou art flatterèd by me,

Who only write my skill in verse to prove

See miracles, ye unbelieving, see!

A dumb-born Muse made to express the mind,

A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind,

One by thy name, the other touching thee.

Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine;

And mine ears deaf by thy fame healèd be;

My vices cured by virtues sprung from thee;

My hopes revived which long in grave had lien.

All unclean thoughts, foul spirits, cast out in me,

Only by virtue that proceeds from thee.