Alexander Montgomerie

Sonnet 56. On his Maistres. III

Excuse me, Plato, if I suld suppone
That vnderneth the heuinly vauted round,
Without the world, or in pairts profound
By Stix inclosd, that emptie place is none.

If watrie vauts of air be full echone,
Then vhat contenis my teirs vhich so abound
With sighis and sobbis, which to the hevins I sound,
Vhen Love delytis to let me mak my mone?

Suppose the solids subtilis ay restrantis,
Vhich is the maist, my maister, je may mene ;
Thoght all war void, jit culd they not contene
The half, let be the haill of my complaintis.

Vhair go they then? the question wald I c[rave,]
Except for ruth the hevins suld thame [ressave.]