| BE wise as thou art cruel; do not press | |
| My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain; | |
| Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express | |
| The manner of my pity-wanting pain. | |
| If I might teach thee wit, better it were, | 5 |
| Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so;— | |
| As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, | |
| No news but health from their physicians know;— | |
| For, if I should despair, I should grow mad, | |
| And in my madness might speak ill of thee: | 10 |
| Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, | |
| Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. | |
| That I may not be so, nor thou belied, | |
| Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. |