Sonnet 58

DEere, why make you more of a dogge than me?
If he doe loue, alas I burne in loue;
If he waite well, I neuer thence would moue;
If he be faire, yet but a dogge can be;
Little he is, so little worth is he:
He barkes, my songs in one voice oft doth proue;
Bidden, (perhaps) he fetcheth thee a gloue;
But I vnbid, fetch euen my soule to thee.
Yet while I languish, him that bosome clips,
That lap doth lap, nay lets in spight of spight
This fauning mate tast of those sugred lips;
Alas, if you graunt onely such delight
To witles things, then Loue I hope, (since wit
Becomes a clogge) will soone ease me of it.