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| SONNET 26 |
| Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage |
| Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, |
| To thee I send this written embassage, |
| To witness duty, not to show my wit: |
| Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine |
| May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, |
| But that I hope some good conceit of thine |
| In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it; |
| Till whatsoever star that guides my moving |
| Points on me graciously with fair aspect |
| And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, |
| To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: |
| Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; |
| Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me. |
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