Sonnet. 45 (Sonnet 45)

MVses which sadly sit about my chaire,
Drownd in the teares extorted by my lines,
With heauie sighes whilst thus I breake the aire,
Painting my passions in these sad dissignes;
Since she disdaines to blesse my happie verse,
The strong-built Trophies to her liuing fame,
Euer henceforth my bosome be your hearse,
Wherein the world shall now entombe her name;
Enclose my musicke you poore senselesse walls,
Sith she is deafe and will not heare my mones,
Soften your selues with euerie teare that falls,
Whilst I like Orpheus sing to trees and stones;
Which with my plaint seeme yet with pittie moued,
Kinder then she who I so long haue liued.