Sonnet 25.

TO heare the impost of a faith not faining,
That dutie paies, and her disdaine extorteth:
These beare the message of my wofull paining,
These Oliue braunches mercie still exorteth.

These tributarie plaints with chast desires,
I send those eyes, the cabinets of loue,
The paradise where to my soule aspires
From out this hell, which my afflictions proue:

Wherein (poore soule) I liue exil'd from mirth,
Pensiue alone, none but dispaire about me,
My ioyes liberties perisht in their birth,
My care's long liu'd, and will not die without me:
What shall I doo but sigh and waile, the while
My martyrdome exceedes the highest stile.