Sonnet 12

ONE day I sought with her hart-thrilling eies,

To make a truce, and termes to entertaine:

All fearlesse then of so false enimies,

Which sought me to entrap in treasons traine.

So as I then disarméd did remaine,

A wicked ambush, which lay hidden long

In the close covert of her guilefull eyen,

Thence breaking forth, did thick about me throng,

Too feeble I t'abide the brunt so strong,

Was forst to yeeld my selfe into their hands:

Who me captiving streight with rigorous wrong,

Have ever since me kept in cruell bands.

So, Ladie, now to you I doo complaine,

Against your eyes that justice I may gaine.