"After long sickness, health brings more delight." "Seas seem more calm, by storms once overblown." "The day more cheerful, by the passed night." "Each thing is, by his contrary best known." "Continual ease is pain: Change sometimes meeter." "Discords in music make music sweeter." XLI. Fear to offend forbids my tongue to speak, And signs and sighs must tell my inward woe: But (ay the while) my heart with grief doth break, And she, by signs, my sorrow will not know. "The stillest streams we see in deepest fords; And Love is greatest, when it wanteth words." XLII. "No pain so great but may be eased by Art." "Though much we suffer, yet despair we should not." "In midst of griefs, Hope always hath some part; And Time may heal, what Art and Reason could not." O what is then this Passion I endure, Which neither Reason, Art, nor Time can cure? XLIII. Pale Jealousy! Fiend of the eternal Night! Misshapen creature, born before thy time! The Imp of Horror! Foe to sweet Delight! Making each error seem an heinous crime. Ah, too great pity! (were there remedy), That ever Love should keep Thee company! XLIV. [Sidenote: _Solstit: brumal._ _This Sonnet was devised upon the shortest day of the year._] The days are now come to their shortest date; And must, in time, by course, increase again. But only I continue at one state, Void of all hope of help, or ease of pain; For days of joy must still be short with me, And nights of sorrow must prolongèd be. XLV. Sleep now, my Muse! and henceforth take thy rest! Which all too long thyself in vain hath wasted. Let it suffice I still must live opprest; And of my pains, the fruit must ne'er be tasted. Then sleep, my Muse! "Fate cannot be withstood." "It's better sleep; than wake, and do no good." XLVI. Why should I love, since She doth prove ungrateful: Since, for reward, I reap nought but disdain. Love thus to be requited, it is hateful! And Reason would, I should not love in vain. Yet all in vain, when all is out of season, For "Love hath no society with Reason." XLVII. Heart's Ease and I have been at odds, too long! I follow fast, but still he flies from me! I sue for grace, and yet sustain the wrong; So gladly would I reconcilèd be. LOVE! make us one! So shalt thou work a wonder; Uniting them, that were so far asunder. XLVIII.