Sonnet 20

IN vaine I seeke and sew to her for grace,

And doe myne humbled hart before her poure:

The whiles her foot she in my necke doth place,

And tread my life downe in the lowly floure.

And yet the lyon, that is lord of powre,

And reigneth ouer euery beast in field:

In his most pride disdeigneth to devoure

The silly lambe that to his might doth yield.

But she, more cruell and more saluage wylde,

Then either lyon or the lyonesse:

Shames not to be with guiltlesse bloud defylde,

But taketh glorie in her cruelnesse.

Fayrer then fairest, let none euer say,

That ye were blooded in a yeelded pray.