SONNET. LXXI. I ioy to see how in your drawen work, Your selfe vnto the Bee ye doe compare; and me vnto the Spyder that doth lurke, in close awayt to catch her vnaware. Right so your selfe were caught in cunning snare of a deare foe, and thralled to his loue: in whose streight bands ye now captiued are so firmely, that ye neuer may remoue. But as your worke is wouen all aboue, with woodbynd flowers and fragrant Eglantine: so sweet your prison you in time shall proue, with many deare delights bedecked fyne. And all thensforth eternall peace shall see, betweene the Spyder and the gentle Bee.