Sonnet 24 (Sonnet 24)

I Heare some say, this man is not in loue,
Who, can he loue? a likely thing they say:
Reade but his verse, and it will easly proue,
O iudge not rashly (gentle Sir) I pray,
Because I loosely trifle in this sort,
As one that fame his sorrows would beguile:
You now suppose me, all this time in sport,
And please your felfe with this conceit the while.
You shallow censures, sometime see you not
In greatest perills some men pleasant be,
Where fame by death is onelie to be got;
They resolute, so stands the case with me;
Where other men in depth of passion crie,
I laugh at Fortune, as in jeast to die.