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.