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Happy in sleep; waking, content to languish; Embracing clouds by night; in day time mourn; All things I loathe save her and mine own anguish; Pleased in my heart moved to live forlorn.

Nought do I crave but love, death or my lady. Hoarse with crying, "Mercy!" (Mercy yet my merit), So many vows and prayers ever made I; That now at length to yield, mere pity were it.

Yet since the Hydra of my cares renewing, Revives still sorrows of her fresh disdaining: Still must I go the summer winds pursuing, And nothing but her love and my heart's paining. Weep hours! grieve days! sigh months! and still mourn yearly! Thus must I do because I love her dearly.

SONNET XX.

If BEAUTY bright be doubled with a frown, That PITY cannot shine through to my bliss; And DISDAIN'S vapours are thus overgrown, That my life's light to me quite darkened is.

Why trouble I the world then with my cries, The air with sighs, the earth below with tears? Since I live hateful to those ruthful eyes; Vexing with my untuned moan, her dainty ears.

If I have loved her dearer than my breath, (My breath that calls the heaven to witness it) And still hold her most dear until my death; And if that all this cannot move one whit: Yet let her say that she hath done me wrong, To use me thus and know I loved so long.