Sonnet 64

LOue, by sure proofe I may call thee vnkinde,
That giues no better eares to my iust cryes:
Thou whom to me, such my good turnes shouldst binde,
As I may well account, but cannot prise.
For when nak'd boy, thou couldst no harbour finde
In this olde world, (growne now so too too wise)
I lodg'de thee in my heart; and being blinde
By nature borne, I gaue to thee my eyes.
Mine eyes, my light, my life, my hart alas,
If so great seruices may scorned be:
Yet let this thought thy Tygirsh courage passe,
That I perhaps am somewhat kin to thee,
Since in thine armes, of Fame most truely spred,
Thou bearst the Arrowe, I the Arrowhed.