Sonnet 29

O Cruell Beauty, sweetnesse inhumane,
That night and day contends with my desire,
And seeks my hope to kill, not quench my fire,
By Death, not Baulme to ease my pleasant paine.
Though ye my thoughts tread down which would aspire
And bound my blisse, do not alas disdaine
That I your matchlesse worth and grace admire,
And for their cause these torments sharpe sustaine.
Let great Empedocles vaunt of his death
Found in the midst of those Sicilian flames,
And Phaëton that Heaven him rest of breath,
And Daedals Son who nam'd the Samian streames:
Their haps I not envy, my praise shall be
That the most faire that lives mov'd me to …ye.