Sonnet XXXVIII: I speake (faire Licia) what my torments

I speake (faire Licia) what my torments be:
But then my speach, too partiall doe I finde:
For hardlie words, can with those thoughts agree:
Those thoughtes that swarme, in such a troubled mind.
Then doe I vowe, my tongue shall never speake:
Nor tell my griefe, that in my heart doth lie:
But cannon-like, I then surchardg'd, doe breake,
And so my silence, worse than speach I trie.
Thus speach, or none, they both doe breed my care.
I live dismayd, and kill my heart with griefe:
In all respectes, my case alyke doth fare:
To him that wants, and dare not aske reliefe.
Then you (faire Licia) soveraigne of my heart:
Read to your selfe, my anguish, and my art.