Best Poem of E C Esquire

Sonnet Vi
Within her haire
sport them:
Sometime they twist it Amberlike in gold,
To which the whistling windes doe oft resort them,
As if they stroue to haue the knots vnrold:
Sometime they let their golden tresses dangle,
And therewith nets and amorous gins they make,
Wherewith the . . .
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Sonnet Xxxv
O Faith, thou sacred Phoenix of this age,
Into another world from hence exiled
Diuorc'd from honor by vnheedfull rage,
Pure vertues nest by hatefull vice defiled:
Thou faith that cal'st thy sirname Constancie,
Christned aboue the nine-fold glorious sphere,
And from the heauens deriues thy pedegree,
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