Sonnet. VII.

The richest relique Rome did euer view,
was Caesars tombe, on which with cunning hand
Ioues tryple honours the three faire Graces stande,
telling his vertues in their vertues true.
This Rome admir'd: but deerest Deere, in you
dwelleth the wonder of the happiest land,
And all the world to Neptunes furthest strand.
For what Rome shapt, hath liuing life in you.
Thy naked beautie bounteously displaid,
enricheth monarchies of harts with loue,
thine eares to heare complaints are open laid:
thine eyes kind lookes, requite all paines I proue,
That of my death I dare not thee accuse,
But pryde in me that baser chaunce refuse.