Monday, May 18, 2009


Sonnet 34

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face.
For no man well of such a slave can speak
That heals the wound and curses not the disgrace.
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet i have still the loss.
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offense's cross.
Ah, but those tears are pearl
which thy love sheds,
And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds.

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