Sonnet.
When I entreat, either thou wilt not hear,
Or else my suit arriving at thy ear
Cools and dies there. A strange extremity!
To freeze i' th' Sun, and in the shade to fry.
Whilst all my blasted hopes decline so soon,
'Tis evening with me, though at high noon.
For pity to thyself, if not to me,
Think time will ravish, what I lose, from thee.