Sonnet, 16.

WAy but the cause, and giue me leaue to plaine me,
For all my hurt, that my harts Queene hath wrought it,
Shee whom I loue so deare, the more to paine me,
VVithholds my right, where I haue dearely bought it.

Dearely I bought that was so highly rated,
Euen with the price of bloud and bodies wasting,
Shee would not yeeld that ought might be abated,
For all shee saw my Loue was pure and lasting.

And yet now scornes performance of the passion,
And with hir presence Iustice ouerruleth,
Shee tels me flat hir beauty beares no action,
And so my plee and proces shee excludeth:
VVhat wrong shee doth, the world may well perceiue it,
To accept my faith at first, and then to leaue it.