Sonnet XXII. Look, as a bird, through sweetness of the call

Richard Linche (fl. 1596–1601)

LOOK, as a bird, through sweetness of the call,

doth clean forget the fowler’s guileful trap;

Or one that gazing on the stars, doth fall

in some deep pit, bewailing his mishap:

So wretched I, whilst, with Lynceus’ eyes,

I greedily beheld her angel’s face,

Was straight entangled with such subtilties,

as, ever since, I live in woful case.

Her cheeks were roses laid in crystal glass;

her breasts, two apples of Hesperides;

Her voice, more sweet than famous THAMIRAS,

reviving death with Doric melodies:

I, hearkening so to this attractive call,

Was caught, and ever since have lived in thrall.