Delia: Sonnet 20

IF Beauty thus be clowded with a frowne,
That pitty shines no comfort to my blis,
And vapours of disdaine so ouer-growne,
That my liues light thus wholy darkned is.
Why should I more molest the world with cryes?
The ayre with sighes, the earth below with teares?
Sith I liue hatefull to thōse ruthlesse eyes,
Vexing with vntun'd moane her dainty eares.
If I haue lou'd her deerer then my breath,
My breath that calls the heauens to witnes it:
And still must hold her deere till after death.
And if that all this cannot moue a whit,
Yet let her say, that she hath done me wrong,
To vse me thus, and know I lou'd so long.