Sonet 42

Oft with that mirror would I change my shape,
From which my Faire askes counsell euery day,
How she th'vntainted beauties should array,
To th'end their fierce assaults no soule may scape.
Then in my bosome I behoou'd t'imbrace
That which I loue, and whil'st on me she gaz'd,
In her sweet eyes I many a time amaz'd,
Would woo my selfe, and borrow thence a grace.
But ah, I seeke that which I haue, and more,
She but too oft in me her picture spies,
And I but gaze too oft on those faire eyes,
Whence I the humor draw that makes mine sore.
Well may my loue come glasse her selfe in me,
In whom all what she is, the world may see.