For had she not been fair and thus unkind, Then had no finger pointed at my lightness; The world had never known what I do find, And clouds obscure had shaded still her brightness. Then had no censor's eye these lines surveyed, Nor graver brows have judged my Muse so vain; No sun my blush and error had bewrayed, Nor yet the world had heard of such disdain. Then had I walked with bold erected face; No downcast look had signified my miss; But my degraded hopes with such disgrace Did force me groan out griefs and utter this. For being full, should I not then have spoken, My sense oppressed had failed and heart had broken. VIII Thou, poor heart, sacrificed unto the fairest, Hast sent the incense of thy sighs to heaven; And still against her frowns fresh vows repairest, And made thy passions with her beauty even. And you, mine eyes, the agents of my heart, Told the dumb message of my hidden grief; And oft, with careful tunes, with silent art, Did treat the cruel Fair to yield relief. And you, my verse, the advocates of love, Have followed hard the process of my case: And urged that title which doth plainly prove My faith should win, if justice might have place. Yet though I see that nought we do can move, 'Tis not disdain must make me cease to love. IX If this be love, to draw a weary breath, To paint on floods till the shore cry to th'air; With downward looks still reading on the earth. These sad memorials of my love's despair; If this be love, to war against my soul, Lie down to wail, rise up to sigh and grieve, The never-resting stone of care to roll, Still to complain my griefs, whilst none relieve; If this be love, to clothe me with dark thoughts, Haunting untrodden paths to wail apart, My pleasures horror, music tragic notes, Tears in mine eyes and sorrow at my heart; If this be love, to live a living death, Then do I love, and draw this weary breath. X Then do I love and draw this weary breath For her, the cruel Fair, within whose brow I written find the sentence of my death In unkind letters wrote she cares not how. Thou power that rul'st the confines of the night, Laughter-loving goddess, worldly pleasures' queen, Intenerate that heart that sets so light The truest love that ever yet was seen; And cause her leave to triumph in this wise Upon the prostrate spoil of that poor heart That serves, a trophy to her conquering eyes, And must their glory to the world impart; Once let her know sh'hath done enough to prove me, And let her pity if she cannot love me! XI