Sonnet XII. Thou (like the fair-faced, gold-encovered book

Richard Linche (fl. 1596–1601)

THOU (like the fair-faced, gold-encovered book,

whose lines are stuffed with damnèd heresies)

Dost in thy face, bear a celestial look;

when, in thy heart, live hell-born cruelties!

With poisonous toads, the clearest spring ’s infected;

and purest lawn ’s nought worth, if full of stains;

So is fair Beauty, when true love’s rejected;

when coal-black hate within the heart remains.

Then love, my Dear! let that be Methridate

to overcome the venom of disdain!

Be pitiful! tread down this killing hate!

Convert to sugared pleasure, gall-ful pain!

O, sith Disdain is foe unto thy Fair,

Exile him thence! there, let him not repair!