Sonnet 43

MY words I know doe well sette forth my minde,
My minde, bemones his sence of inward smart:
Such smart may pittie claime of any hart;
Her hart, sweete hart, is of no Tygers kinde,
And yet she heares, and I no pittie finde,
But more I cry, lesse grace she doth impart;
Alas, what cause is there so ouerthwart,
That Noblenes it selfe makes thus vnkinde?
I much doe gesse, yet finde no truth but this,
That when the breath of my complaints doe touch
Those daintie doores vnto the Court of Blisse,
That once come there, the sobs of my annoyes,
Are metamorphos'd straight to tunes of ioyes.