The Seventh Sonnet

Whose senses in so evil comfort their stepdame Nature laies, That ravishing delight in them most sweete tunes doth not raise, Or if they doe delight therein, yet are so cloid with wit, As with sententious lips to set a little vaine on it: O let them heare these sacred tunes, & learne in wonders scholes, To be (in things past bounds of wit) fooles if they be not fooles.

Who have so leaden eyes, as not to see sweete Beauties showe: Or seeing, have so wooden wits as not that worth to knowe; Or knowing have so muddie mindes, as not to be in love; Or loving, have so frothie hearts, as easie thence to move: O, let them see these heavenly beames, and in faire, letters reed A lesson, fit both sight and skill, Love and firme Love to breed.

Heare then, but then with wonder hear; see, but admiring see, No mortal gifts, no earthly fruts now heare diserned bee: See, doo you see this face: a face, nay image of the skyes: Of which, the two life-given lights are figured in her eyes: Heare you this soule-invading voyce, and count it but a voyce, The verie essence of their tunes, when Angls doo rejoyce.