Sonnet. 43 (Sonnet 43)

VVHy should your faire eyes with such soueraine grace,
Dispearse their raies on euery vulgar spirit,
Whilst I in darkenes in the selfe same place,
Get not one glance to recompence my merit:
So doth the plow-man gaze the wandring starre,
And onely rests contented with the light,
That neuer learnd what constellations are,
Beyond the bent of his vnknowing fight.
O why should beautie (custome to obey)
To their grosse sence applie her selfe so ill?
Would God I were as ignorant as they,
When I am made vnhappy by my skill;
Onely compeld on this poore good to boast,
Heauens are not kind to the that know them most.