Sonnet XLVI. My Mistres seeing her faire counterfet

Thomas Watson (1555–1592)

MY Mistres seeing her faire counterfet

So sweetelie framed in my bleeding brest

On it her fancie shee so firmelie set,

Thinking her selfe for want of it distrest.

Enuying that anie should inioy her Image

Since all vnworthie were of such an honor:

Tho gan shee me command to leaue my gage,

The first end of my ioy, last cause of dolor.

But it so fast was fixed to my hart,

Ioind with vnseparable sweete commixture,

That nought had force or power them to part:

Here take my hart quoth I, with it the picture.

But oh coy Dame intollerable smart,

Rather then touch my hart or come about it,

She turnd her face and chose to goe without it.