ces define,
_Anima._ Giues her that name as shee the body moues,
_Amor._ Then is she loue imbracing Charitie,
_Animus._ Mouing a will in vs, it is the mind,
_Mens._ Retayning knowledge, still the same in kind;
_Memoria._ As intelectuall it is the memorie,
_Ratio._ In judging, Reason onely is her name,
_Sensus._ In speedy apprehension it is sence,
_Conscientia._ In right or wrong, they call her conscience.
_Spiritus._ The spirit, when it to Godward doth inflame.
These of the soule the seuerall functions bee,
Which my hart lightned by thy loue doth see.

Sonet 21

You cannot loue my pretty hart, and why?
There was a time, you told me that you would,
But now againe you will the same deny,
If it might please you, would to God you could;
What will you hate? nay, that you will not neither,
Nor loue, nor hate, how then? what will you do,
What will you keepe a meane then betwixt eyther?
Or will you loue me, and yet hate me to?
Yet serues not this, what next, what other shift?
You will, and will not, what a coyle is heere,
I see your craft, now I perceaue your drift,
And all this while, I was mistaken there.
Your loue and hate is this, I now doe proue you,
You loue in hate, by hate to make me loue you.

Sonet 22

An euill spirit your beauty haunts me still,
Where-with (alas) I haue been long possest,
Which ceaseth not to tempt me vnto ill,
Nor giues me once but one pore minutes rest.
In me it speakes, whether I sleepe or wake,
And when by meanes to driue it out I try,
With greater torments then it me doth take,
And tortures me in most extreamity.
Before my face, it layes all my dispaires,
And hasts me on vnto a suddaine death;
Now tempting me, to drown my selfe in teares,
And then in sighing to giue vp my breath:
Thus am I still prouok'd to euery euill,
By this good wicked spirit, sweet Angel deuill.

Sonet 23

_To the Spheares_

Thou which do'st guide this little world of loue,
Thy planets mansions heere thou mayst behold,
My brow the spheare where _Saturne_ still doth moue,
Wrinkled with cares: and withered, dry, and cold;
Mine eyes the Orbe where _Iupiter_ doth trace,
Which gently smile because they looke on thee,
_Mars_ in my swarty visage takes his place,
Made leane with loue, where furious conflicts