Sonnet 91

BE your wordes made (good sir) of Indian ware,
That you allowe them mee by so small rate,
Or do you the Caconians imitate,
Or do you meane my tender eares to spare,
That to my questions you so totall are?
When I demaund of Phoenix Stellaes state,
You saie (forsooth) you left her well too late.
O God, thinke you that satisfies my care?
I would know whether shee did sit or walke:
How cloathd: how waited on: sighd shee or smilde:
VVhereof: with whome: how often did shee talke:
VVith what pastimes, times iorneys shee be guild?
If her lips daine to sweeten my poore name?
Saie all: and all well said: saie still the same.