Sonnet XXIII. My Love was masked, and armèd with a fan

Giles Fletcher (1586?–1623)

MY Love was masked, and armèd with a fan;

To see the sun so careless of his light:

Which stood and gazed; and gazing, waxèd wan

To see a star, himself that was more bright.

Some did surmise She hid her from the sun;

Of whom, in pride, She scorned for to be kissed:

And feared the harm by him to others done.

But these the reason of this wonder missed;

Nor durst the sun, if that her face were bare,

In greatest pride presume to take a kiss:

But she, more kind, did show she had more care

Than with her eyes eclipse him of his bliss.

Unmask you, Sweet, and spare not! dim the sun!

Your light’s enough, although that his were done.