Sonnet LII. Like as the lute, that joys or else dislikes

Samuel Daniel (1562–1619)

LIKE as the lute, that joys or else dislikes,

As is his art that plays upon the same:

So sounds my Muse, according as she strikes

On my heart strings, high tuned unto her fame.

Her touch doth cause the warble of the sound,

Which here I yield in lamentable wise,

A wailing “descant” on the sweetest “ground,”

Whose due reports give honour to her eyes.

Else harsh my style, untunable my Muse;

Hoarse sounds the voice, that praiseth not her name!

If any pleasing relish here I use;

Then judge, the world! her beauty gives the same.

O happy “ground” that makes the music such!

And blessèd hand that gives so sweet a touch!