Elizabethan Sonnet Cycles: Idea, Fidessa and Chloris

To Miracle

XXXV

Some misbelieving and profane in love,
  When I do speak of miracles by thee,
  May say that thou art flatterèd 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 healèd 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.