Page:Elizabethan sonnet-cycles.djvu/65



I hate thee, which I'd have thee know;

A naked starveling ever mayst thou be!

Poor rogue, go pawn thy fascia and thy bow

For some poor rags wherewith to cover thee;

Or if thou'lt not thy archery forbear,

To some base rustic do thyself prefer,

And when corn's sown or grown into the ear,

Practice thy quiver and turn crowkeeper;

Or being blind, as fittest for the trade,

Go hire thyself some bungling harper's boy;

They that are blind are minstrels often made,

So mayst thou live to thy fair mother's joy;

That whilst with Mars she holdeth her old way,

Thou, her blind son, mayst sit by them and play.