SONNET. XIIII.

Here; hold this gloue (this milk-white cheueril gloue)�
     Not quaintly ouer-wrought with curious knots,
     Nor deckt with golden spangs, nor siluer spots;
Yet wholsome for thy hand as thou shalt proue.
Ah no: (sweet boy) place this gloue neere thy heart,
     Weare it, and lodge it still within thy brest,
     So shalt thou make me (most vnhappy,) blest�
So shalt thou rid my paine, and case my smart:
How can that be (perhaps) thou wilt reply,
     A gloue is for the hand� not for the heart,
     Nor can it well be prou'd by common art,
Nor reasons rule. To this, thus answere I:
     If thou from gloue do'st take away the g,
     Then gloue is loue: and so I send it thee.