THough you be fair and beautiful withal; And I am black, for which you me despise: Know that your beauty subject is to fall! Though you esteem it at so high a price. And time may come when that whereof you boast, Which is your youth's chief wealth and ornament, Shall withered be by winter's raging frost; When beauty's pride and flowering years are spent. Then wilt thou mourn! when none shall thee respect. Then wilt thou think how thou hast scorned my tears! Then, pitiless, each one will thee neglect; When hoary grey shall dye thy yellow hairs. Then wilt thou think upon poor Corin's case! Who loved thee dear, yet lived in thy disgrace.
SONNET XXVII.
O LOVE, leave off with sorrows to torment me! Let my heart's grief and pining pain content thee! The breach is made; I give thee leave to enter! Thee to resist, great god, I dare not venture! Restless desire doth aggravate my anguish; Careful conceits do fill my soul with languish: Be not too cruel, in thy conquest gained! Thy deadly shafts have victory obtained! Batter no more my Fort with fierce affection; But shield me, captive, under thy protection! [Two lines wanting.] I yield to thee, O Love, thou art the stronger! Raise then thy siege, and trouble me no longer!
SONNET XXVIII.
