My words I know doe well set forth my minde, My minde bemones his sence of inward smart; Such smart may pittie claime of any hart; _Her_ hart, sweete hart, is of no Tygers kinde, And yet _she_ heares, and I no pittie finde, But more I cry, lesse grace _she_ doth impart; Alas, what cause is there so overthwart, That Noblenes it selfe makes thus unkinde? I much doe gesse, yet finde no truth save this, That when the breath of my complaint doe touch Those daintie doores unto the Court of Blisse, The heavenly nature of that place is such: That once come there, the sobs of my annoyes, Are metamorphos’d straight to tunes of joyes. _Stella_ oft sees the verie face of woes Painted in my beclowded stormie face: But cannot skill to pittie my disgrace; No though thereof the cause _her selfe shee_ knowes. Yet hearing late a fable which did show, Of Lovers never knowne, (a grievous case) Pittie thereof got in her breast such place, As from _her_ eyes, a Spring of teares did flow. Alas, if Fancie drawne by ymag’d things, Though false, yet with free scope more grace doth breede Then Servants wreck, where new doubts honor brings, Than thinke my _Deere_, that in me you doe reede Of Lovers ruine some thrise sad Tragædie: I am not I, pittie the tale of me. I curst thee oft, I pittie now thy case, Blind hitting Boy, since _shee_ that thee and me Rules with a becke, so tyranniseth thee, That thou must want or foode or dwelling place; For _Shee_ protests to banish thee _her_ face. _Her_ face (ô Love) a roge thou then should’st bee, If Love learne not alone to love and see, Without desire to feede on further grace. Alas poore wagge, that now a Scholler art To such a Schoole-mistris, whose lessons new Thou needes must misse, and so thou needes must smart; Yet _deere_, let me this pardon get of _you_, So long though he from booke mich to desire. Till without Fuell, _thou_ can make hote fire. What, have I thus betraide my libertie, Can those black beames, such burning marks engrave In my free side, or am I borne a slave, Whose necke becomes such yoke of tyrannie? Or want I sence to feele my miserie, Or spirit, disdaine of such disdaine to have, Who for long faith the daily helpe I crave, May get no almes, but scorne of beggerie. Vertue awake, beautie but beautie is; I may, I must, I can, I will, I doe Leave following that which it is gaine to misse, Let her goe: soft, but there she comes, goe to, Unkind I love you, not, (O mee) that eye Doth make my hart give to my tongue a lye.