SONNET. X.

Thus was my loue, thus was my Ganymed,
     (Heauens ioy, worlds wonder, natures fairest work,
     In whose aspect Hope and Dispaire doe lurke)
Made of pure blood in whitest snow yshed,
And for sweete Venus only form'd his face,
     And his each member delicately framed,
     And last of all faire Ganymede him named,
His limbs (as their Creatrix) her imbrace.
But as for his pure, spotles, vertuous minde,
     Because it sprung of chaste Dianaes blood�
     (Goddesse of Maides, directresse of all good,)
Hit wholy is to chastity inclinde.
     And thus it is: as far as I can proue,
     He loues to be belou'd, but not to loue,