Sonnet 10: Reason
Reason,
in
faith
thou
art
well
serv'd,
that
still
Wouldst
brabbling
be
with
sense
and
love
in
me:
I
rather
wish'd
thee
climb
the
Muses'
hill,
Or
reach
the
fruit
of
Nature's
choicest
tree,
Or
seek
heav'n's
course,
or
heav'n's
inside
to
see:
Why
shouldst
thou
toil
our
thorny
soil
to
till?
Leave
sense,
and
those
which
sense's
objects
be:
Deal
thou
with
powers
of
thoughts,
leave
love
to
will.
But
thou
wouldst
needs
fight
both
with
love
and
sense,
With
sword
of
wit,
giving
wounds
of
dispraise,
Till
downright
blows
did
foil
thy
cunning
fence:
For
soon
as
they
strake
thee
with
Stella's
rays,
Reason
thou
kneel'dst,
and
offeredst
straight
to
prove
By
reason
good,
good
reason
her
to
love.