The Second Decade. Sonnet VI. Wonder it is, and pity is’t, that she

Henry Constable (1562–1613)

WONDER it is, and pity is’t, that she

In whom all beauty’s treasure we may find,

That may enrich the body and the mind;

Towards the poor, should use no charity.

My love has gone a begging unto thee!

And if that Beauty had not been more kind

That Pity, long ere this, he had been pined:

But Beauty is content his food to be.

O pity have! when such poor orphans beg.

LOVE (naked boy!) hath nothing on his back;

And though he wanteth neither arm nor leg,

Yet maimed he is, sith he his sight doth lack.

And yet (though blind) he beauty can behold,

And yet (though naked) he feels more heat than cold.