Sonnet XIII. When none of these, my sorrows would allege

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

WHEN none of these, my sorrows would allege;

I sought to find the means, how I might hate thee!

Then hateful Curiousness I did in-wedge

Within my thoughts, which ever did await thee!

I framed mine Eyes for an unjust controlment;

And mine unbridled Thoughts (because I dare not

Seek to compel) did pray them, take enrolment

Of Nature’s fault in her! and, equal, spare not!

They searched, and found “her eyes were sharp and fiery,

A mole upon her forehead coloured pale,

Her hair disordered, brown, and crispèd wiry,

Her cheeks thin speckled with a summer’s male.”

This told, men weened it was a pleasing tale

Her to disgrace, and make my follies fade.

And please, it did! but her, more gracious made.