Sonet 89

I wot not what transported hath my mind,
That I in armes against a goddesse stand;
Yet though I sue t'one of th'immortall band,
The like before was prosp'rously design'd.
To loue Anchises Venus thought no scorne,
And Thetis earst was with a mortall match'd,
Whom if th'aspiring Peleus had not catch'd,
The great Achilles neuer had bene borne.
Thus flatter I my selfe whil'st nought confines,
My wandring fancies that strange wayes do trace;
He that embrac'd a cloud in Iunoes place,
May be a terror to the like designes:
But fame in end th'aduentrer euer crownes,
Whom either th'issue or th'attempt renownes.