Sonnet XIV. Those snary locks are those same nets, my Dear!

Samuel Daniel (1562–1619)

THOSE snary locks are those same nets, my Dear!

Wherewith my liberty, thou didst surprise!

Love was the flame that fired me so near:

The dart transpiercing were those crystal eyes.

Strong is the net, and fervent is the flame;

Deep is the wound, my sighs do well report.

Yet I do love, adore, and praise the same

That holds, that burns, that wounds in this sort;

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

The bond, the flame, the 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 travails be above my strength;

Good D E L I A! Loose, quench, heal me, now at length!