Sonet 4.

Each day new proofes of new dispaire I find
That is new death: No mervayle then if I
Make exile my last helpe, to th' end myne eye
Should not behold the death to me assign'd

Not that from death absence could saue my mynde
But that I might take death more patientlye
Like him which by the iudge condemn'd to dye
To suffer with lesse feare his eyes doth blinde.

Youre lips in skarlet clad my iudges be
Pronouncing sentence of eternall no
Dispaire the hangman which tormenteth me

The death I suffer is the life I haue
For onlye life doth make me die in woe
And onlye death I for my pardon craue.