Sonnet 4: Hope and Despaire

Domestick broyles my tortur'd heart inuades
Twixt wau'ring Hope, and desp'rate black Despaire:
To prosecute my sute the one perswades,
The other frustrates all my hopes with cares
Hope sets me on, infer's shee's fayrest faire,
How deire disdaine doth dwell in fowlest Cels,
And fell dispaire, calls beauty Enuies heire:
Which torments me more then ten thousand hels.
Loe thus my former hope, despaire expels
Mid'st which extreames whats best for me to doe:
In open armes, despaire gainst me rebels,
Hope traytor-like giues free consent thereto.
And till these traytors twaine consume my city
I restlesse rest, to rest vpon her pitty.