Q 140

BE wise as thou art cruel, do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain:
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express,
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.

If I might teach thee wit better it were,
Though not to love, yet love to tell me so,
As testy sick-men when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their Physicians know.

For if I should despair I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee,
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.

That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.
buy me