Sonet 47

When whiles I heare some gallants to giue forth, That those whom they adore are onely faire, With whom they thinke none other can compare; The beautie of beautie, and the height of worth, Then Iealousie doth all my ioyes controule, For ô I thinke, who can accomplish'd be, (There is no Sunne but one) saue onely she Whom I haue made the idole of my soule; And this suspition wounds my better parts: I rage to haue a riuall in my light, And yet would rage farre more, if any might Giue her their eyes, and yet hold backe their hearts; Too great affection doth those passions moue, I may not trust my shadow with my loue.