Sonet 4.

Not that thy hand is soft is sweete is white
Thy lipps sweete roses, breast sweet lilye is
That loue esteemes these three the chiefest blisse
Which nature euer made for lipps delight.

But when these three to shew theyre heauenly might
Such wonders doe, devotion then for this
Commandeth vs, with humble zeale to kisse
Such thinges as worke miracles in oure sight.

A lute of senselesse wood by nature dumbe
Toucht by thy hand doth speake devinelye well
And from thy lips and breast sweet tunes doe come
To my dead hearte the which new life doe giue
Of greater wonders heard we neuer tell
Then for the dumbe to speake the dead to liue.