SONNET. VI.

Sweet Corrall lips, where Natures treasure lies,
     The balme of blisse, the soueraigue salue of sorrow
     The secret touch of loues heart-burning arrow,
Come quench my thirst or els poore Daphne dies.
One night I dream'd (alas twas but a Dreame)
     That I did feele the sweetnes of the same�
     Where-with inspir'd, I young againe became,
And from my heart a spring of blood did streame,
But when I wak'e, I found it nothing so,
     Saue that my limbs (me thought) did waxe more strong
     And I more lusty far, & far more yong.
This gift on him rich Nature did bestow.
     Then if in dreaming so, I so did speede,
     What should I doe, if I did so indeede?