XXVII Sonnet
To yield to those I cannot but disdain,
Whose face doth but entangle foolish hearts;
It is the beauty of the better parts,
With which I mind my fancies for to chain.
Those that have nought wherewith men’s minds to gain, 5
But only curlèd locks and wanton looks,
Are but like fleeting baits that have no hooks,
Which may well take, but cannot well retain.
He that began to yield to the outward grace,
And then the treasures of the mind doth prove, 10
He who as ’twere was with the mask in love,
What doth he think whenas he sees the face?
No doubt being limed by the outward colours so,
That inward worth would never let him go.
Earl of Stirling.