Poem by Henry Constable

Of His Ladies Vayle Wherewith She Covered Her

Sonet 3. 

The fouler hydes as closely as he may
The net where caught the sillie byrd should be
Least that the threatning prison it should see
And so for feare be forst to flye away

My Ladie so the while she doth assay
In curled knotts fast to entangle me
Puts on her vayle to th'end I should not flee
The golden net wherein I am a pray

Alas (most sweete) what need is of a nette
To catch a byrd which is allreadie tame
Sith with youre hand alone yow may it gette
For it desires to fly into the same
What needs such arte my thoughts then to intrap
When of them selues they flye into youre lap.

1. Of the Nativity of the Lady Rich's Daughter
2. To the Marquess of Piscat's Soul
3. H.C. to the Gentleman Reader
4. To the Blessed Sacrament
5. My Lady’s Presence Makes the Roses Red

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