Sonnet 46

WHat, haue I thus betraide my libertie,
Can those blacke beames, such burning markes engraue
In my free side, or am I borne a slaue,
Whose necke becomes such yoke of tyrannie?
Or want I sence to feele my miserie,
Or spirit, disdaine of such disdaine to haue,
Who for long faith some gentle pittie craue,
Yet get no almes, but scorne of beggerie.
Vertue awake, beautie but beautie is;
I may, I must, I can, I will, I doe
Leaue following that which it is gaine to misse,
Let her goe: soft, but there she comes, goe to,
Vnkind I loue you, not, (woe me) that I
Must make my hart thus giue my tongue the lye.