Sonnet XLIIII: Cruell fayre Love, I justly do complaine

Cruell fayre Love, I justly do complaine,
Of too much rigour, and thy heart unkind.
That for mine eyes, thou hast my bodie staine,
And would not graunt, that I should favour find.
I look'd (fayre Love) and you my love lookt fayre,
I sigh'd for love, and you for sport did smyle.
Your smyles were such as did perfume the ayre,
And this perfumed did my heart beguyle,
Thus I confesse, the fault was in mine eyes,
Begun with sighes, and ended with a flame:
I for your love, did all the world despise,
And in these poems, honour'd have your name.
Then let your love so with my fault dispense,
That all my parts feele not mine eyes offense.