- 66 -

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry:
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jolity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honor shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wronfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tonque-tied by authority,
And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill.

Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page