Page:Elizabethan sonnet-cycles.djvu/58

 LOVE'S LUNACY

do I speak of joy or write of love,

When my heart is the very den of horror,

And in my soul the pains of hell I prove,

With all his torments and infernal terror?

What should I say? what yet remains to do?

My brain is dry with weeping all too long;

My sighs be spent in utt'ring of my woe,

And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong.

But still distracted in love's lunacy,

And bedlam-like thus raving in my grief,

Now rail upon her hair, then on her eye,

Now call her goddess, then I call her thief;

Now I deny her, then I do confess her,

Now do I curse her, then again I bless her.