Sonnet 31

WIth how sad steps ô Moone thou clim'st the skyes,
How silently, and with how meane a face,
What may it be, that euen in heauenly place,
That busie Archer his sharpe Arrowes tryes?
Sure if that long with loue acquainted eyes
Can iudge of loue, thou feelst of Louers case,
I reade within thy lookes thy languisht grace.
To mee that feele the like, my state discries.
Then euen of fellowship ô Moone tell me,
Is constant loue deemde there but want of wit?
Are beauties there, as proude as heere there be?
Doe they aboue, loue to be lou'd, and yet
Those Louers scorne, whom that loue doth possesse?
Doe they call vertue there vngratefulnesse?