If Beautie thus be clouded with a frowne,
That pittie shines no comfort to my blis:
And vapors of disdaine so ouergrowne,
That my liues light thus wholy darkned is.
Why should I more molest the world with cryes?
The ayre with sighes, the earth belowe with teares?
Since I liue hatefull to those ruthlesse eyes,
Vexing with vntun’d moane, her daintie eares.
If I haue lou’d her deerer then my breath,
My breath that calls the heauens to witnes it:
And still must holde her deere till after death.
And if that all this cannot moue a whit;
Yet let her say that she hath doone me wrong,
To vse me thus and knowe I lou’d so long.