Sonet 78

I chanc'd my deare to come vpon a day, Whil'st thou wast but arising from thy bed, And the warme snowes with comely garments cled; More rich then glorious, and more fine then gay: Then blushing to be seene in such a case, O how thy curled lockes mine eyes did please, And well become those waues, thy beauties seas, Which by thy haires were fram'd vpon thy face: Such was Diana once when, being spide By rash Acteon, she was much commou'd: Yet more discreet then th'angrie goddesse prou'd, Thou knew'st I came through error, not of pride: And thought the wounds I got by thy sweet sight, Were too great scourges for a fault so light.