SONNET XXXVIII

Cælica, I overnight was finely used, Lodged in the midst of paradise, your heart; Kind thoughts had charge I might not be refused, Of every fruit and flower I had part. But curious knowledge, blown with busy flame,* The sweetest fruits had in down shadows hidden, And for it found mine eyes had seen the same, I from my paradise was straight forbidden. Where that cur, rumor, runs in every place, Barking with care, begotten out of fear; And glassy honour, tender of disgrace, Stand seraphin to see I come not there; While that fine soil, which all these joys did yield, By broken fence is proved a common field. 1 The MS. has "fame."