Delia: Sonnet 24

LOoke in my griefes, and blame me not to mourne,
From care to care that leades a life so bad;
Th' Orphan of Fortune, borne to be her scorne,
Whose clowded brow doth make my dayes so sad.
Long are their nights whose cares doe neuer sleepe,
Lothsome their dayes, whom no sunne euer ioyd,
Her fairest eyes doe penetrate so deepe,
That thus I liue both day and night annoyd.
But sith the sweetest roote doth yeeld thus much,
Her praise from my complaint I may not part:
I loue th' effect for that the cause is such,
Ile praise her face, and blame her flinty hart.
Whilst that we make the world admire at vs,
Her for disdaine, and me for louing thus.