Sonnet 3. Of His Own, and of His Mistress' Sickness at One Time -

Sickness, intending my love to betray,
Before I should sight of my Dear obtain,
Did his pale colours in my face display,
Lest that my favour might her favour gain.
Yet, not content herewith, like means it wrought,
My Philomel's bright beauty to deface;
And Nature's glory to disgrace it sought,
That my conceived love it might displace.
But my firm love could this assault well bear,
Which virtue had, not beauty, for his ground;
And yet bright beams of beauty did appear
Through sickness veil, which made my love abound:
If sick, thought I, her beauty so excel,
How matchless would it be if she were well!
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