Sonnets: Idea XXXV To Miracle
Some misbelieving and profane in love, When I do speak of miracles by thee, May say that thou art flatterd by me, Who only write my skill in verse to prove See miracles, ye unbelieving, see! A dumb-born Muse made to express the mind, A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind, One by thy name, the other touching thee. Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine; And mine ears deaf by thy fame heald be; My vices cured by virtues sprung from thee; My hopes revived which long in grave had lien. All unclean thoughts, foul spirits, cast out in me, Only by virtue that proceeds from thee.
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"Some misbelieving and profane in love,..."
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