Sonnet XII. Cœlia, of all sweet courtesies resolve me!

William Percy (1575–1648)

CŒLIA, of all sweet courtesies resolve me!

For wishèd grace, how must I now be doing?

Since OPS, the completest frame which did absolve thee,

Hath made each parcel to my sole undoing!

Those wires which should thy corps to mine unite,

Be rays to daze us from so near approach.

Thine eyne, which should my ’nighted sailors light,

Be shot to keep them off with foul reproach.

Those ruddy plums embrued with heavenly foods,

When I would suck them, turn to driest coral;

And when I couch between her lily buds,

They surge, like frothy water mounts above all.

Surely, they were all made unto good uses;

But She, them all untowardly abuses.