Sonet 12

    To nothing fitter can I thee compare,
    Then to the sonne of some rich penyfather,
    Who hauing now brought on his end with care,
    Leaues to his son all he had heap’d together;
    This newe rich nouice, lauish of his chest,
    To one man giues, and on another spends,
    Then here he ryots, yet amongst the rest,
    Haps to lend some to one true honest friend. 
    Thy gifts thou in obscuritie doost wast,
    False friends thy kindnes, borne but to deceiue thee,
    Thy loue, that is on the unworthy plac’d,
    Time hath thy beauty, which with age will leaue thee;
      Onely that little which to me was lent,
      I giue thee back, when all the rest is spent.

Sonet 13

    You not alone, when you are still alone,
    O God from you that I could priuate be,
    Since you one were, I neuer since was one,
    Since you in me, my selfe since out of me
    Transported from my selfe into your beeing
    Though either distant, present yet to eyther,
    Senceles with too much ioy, each other seeing,
    And onely absent when we are together. 
    Giue me my selfe, and take your selfe againe,
    Deuise some means but how I may forsake you,
    So much is mine that doth with you remaine,
    That taking what is mine, with me I take you,
      You doe bewitch me, O that I could flie
      From my selfe you, or from your owne selfe I.

Sonet 14

To the Soule

That learned Father which so firmly proues The soule of man immortall and diuine, And doth the seuerall offices define, Anima. Giues her that name as shee the body moues, Amor. Then is she loue imbracing Charitie, Animus. Mouing a will in vs, it is the mind, Mens. Retayning knowledge, still the same in kind; Memoria. As intelectuall it is the memorie, Ratio. In judging, Reason onely is her name, Sensus. In speedy apprehension it is sence, Conscientia. In right or wrong, they call her conscience. Spiritus. The spirit, when it to Godward doth inflame. 
  These of the soule the seuerall functions bee,
Which my hart lightned by thy loue doth see.

Sonet 21

    You cannot loue my pretty hart, and why? 
    There was a time, you told me that you would,
    But now againe you will the same deny,
    If it might please you, would to God you could;
    What will you hate? nay, that you will not neither,
    Nor loue, nor hate, how then? what will you do,
    What will you keepe a meane then betwixt eyther? 
    Or will you loue me, and yet hate me to? 
    Yet serues not this, what next, what other shift? 
    You will, and will not, what