Henry King, Bishop of Chichester (Генри Кинг, епископ Чичестерский)

Sonnet. I Prethee Turn That Face Away

I prethee turn that face away
Whose splendour but benights my day.
Sad eyes like mine, and wounded hearts
Shun the bright rayes which beauty darts.
Unwelcome is the Sun that pries
Into those shades where sorrow lies.
Go shine on happy things. To me
That blessing is a miserie:
Whom thy fierce Sun not warmes, but burnes,
Like that the sooty Indian turnes.
Ile serve the night, and there confin'd
Wish thee less fair, or else more kind. 

1. To the Queen at Oxford
2. Madam Gabrina, Or The Ill-Favourd Choice
3. The Short Wooing
4. On Two Children Dying Of One Disease, And Buried In One Grave
5. Sonnet. Go thou that vainly do'st mine eyes invite

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