Sonnet 128. How oft when thou, my music, music play'st

How oft when thou, my music, music play'st

Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds

With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st

The wiry concord that mine ear confounds

Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap

To kiss the tender inward of thy hand

Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap

At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand.