Sonnet. IIII.

When tedious much, and ouer-wearie long,
cruell disdaine, reflecting from her brow,
hath beene the cause that I endur'd such wrong,
and rest thus discontent, and wearie now.
Yet when posteritie in time to come,
shall finde th' vncanceld tenor of her vow,
and her disdaine be then confest of some,
how much vnkind, and long I finde it now.
O yet euen then, (though then will be too late
to comfort mee, dead many a day ere then)
they shall confesse I did not force her hart,
and tyme shall make it knowne to other men,
That nere had her disdaine made mee dispaire,
Had she not beene so excellently faire.