What can these wrinckles, and vayne teares portende
But thine hard fauour, and indurate hart?
What shew these sighes, which from my soule I send
But endlesse smoake, raiz'd from a fierie smart?
Canst thou not pittie my deepe wounded brest?
Canst thou not frame those eyes to cast a smile?
Wylt thou with no sweet sentence make me blest?
To make amendes wilt thou not sport a while?
Shall we not once with our opposed eyne
In interchange, send, golden dartes rebated?
With short reflection twixt thy browes and mine
Whilest loue with thee, of my greefes hath debated?
Those eyes of loue, were made for loue to see,
And cast reguardes on others, not on mee.