Sonnet 2

Dear eyes, how well, indeed, you do adorn

That blessed sphere which gazing eyes hold dear,

The loved place of Cupid's triumphs near,

The court of glory, where his force was not borne,

How may they term you April's sweetest morn

When pleasing looks from those bright lights appear

A sunshine day, from clouds and mists still clear

Kind nursing fires for wishes yet unborn.

Two stars of Heaven sent down to grace the earth,

Placed in that throne which gives all joys their birth,

Shining and burning, pleasing, yet their charms

Which wounding, yet in hurts are deemed delights,

So pleasant is their force, so great their mights

As, happy, they can triumph in their harms.