Sonnet. V.

Had shee not beene so excellently faire,
my Muse had neuer mourn'd in lines of woe,
but I did too too inestimable wey her,
and that's the cause I now lament me so.
Yet not for her contempt doe I complaine mee,
(complaints may ease the minde, but that is all,)
therefore though shee too constantly disdaine mee
I can but sigh and greeue, and so I shall:
Yet greeue I not, because I must greeue euer,
and yet (alas) waste teares away in vaine,
I am resolued, truely to perseuer,
though shee persisteth in her olde disdaine.
But that which grieues mee most, is that I see,
Those which most faire, the most vnkindest bee.