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Sonnett
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Sonnet
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Mistres, thinke nott it is alone the flattringe hue
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The Prisone sweet that Captyve holdes my mynde
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False Craessyde have yow chaungde your mynde
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Love as a Prynce to shew his power and myght
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What was is nott: what may shalbee
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Verses of the Queenes Armes
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Woolde I were changde into that golden Showre
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Verses to Bee Sett over the three Crownd Plumes the Princes Armores
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