Sonnet VI. These amber locks are those same nets, my Dear!

Samuel Daniel (1562–1619)

THESE amber locks are those same nets, my Dear!

Wherewith my liberty thou didst surprise.

Love was the flame that fired me so near.

The darts transpiercing were these crystal eyes.

Strong is the net, and fervent is the flame,

Deep is the stroke, my sighs can well report:

Yet do I love, adore and praise the same;

That holds, that burns, that wounds me in that sort.

I list not seek to break, to quench, to heal

This bond, this flame, this wound that festereth so;

By knife, by liquor or by salve to deal:

So much I please to perish in my woe.

Yet, lest long travels be above my strength

Good Lady! loose, quench, heal me now at length!