Sonnet Cvii:

CVII Now I have won my lady's priceless heart-- Hold full possession with a sway as wide As the moon's rule above the flowing tide-- Why, as she came, may she not so depart? Surely the tinkling of my lute, this art, Profaned by every fool whose love has sighed In crippled rhymes, her love will not abide If sober reason from its slumber start. What more have I? Alas! I see no charm In these dim eyes, bent brows and grizzled hair Which brazen flattery could belie for fair. In thy own truth my nakedness must arm, As love's defense against beleaguering harm, Trusting to that, which guards me everywhere.