Best Poem of E C Esquire

Sonnet Vi
Within her haire
sport them:
Sometime they twist it Amberlike in gold,
To which the whistling windes doe oft resort them,
As if they stroue to haue the knots vnrold:
Sometime they let their golden tresses dangle,
And therewith nets and amorous gins they make,
Wherewith the . . .
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Sonnet V
Nature (
) did greatly fauour,
When first her pourtrait she began to pencill,
And rob'd the heauens of her chiefest honour:
There sacred beautie all her parts doth tincill.
Heauens Hyrarkie is in her bright eyes spheered:
The Graces sport in her cheekes dimpled pits:
Trophies of maiestie in . . .
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