Sonnet (II)

O

Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dry

   Oceans of Ink ; for, as the Deluge did

   Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty :

Each Cloud distills thy praise, and doth forbid

Poets to turn it to another use.

   Roses and Lilies speak thee ; and to make

   A pair of Cheeks of them, is thy abuse.

Why should I Womens eyes for Chrystal take?

Such poor invention burns in their low mind,

   Whose fire is wild, and doth not upward go

   To praise, and on thee Lord, some Ink bestow.

Open the bones, and you shall nothing find

   In the best face but filth, when Lord, in thee

   The beauty lies, in the discovery

From Walton's Life. This, and Sonnet I, were sent by Herbert to his mother in 1610 'as a New-years gift' ;They declare, he told her, 'my resolution to be, that my poor Abilities in Poetry shall be all, and ever consecrated to Gods glory'.