Sonnet 36

TELL me, when shall these wearie woes have end,

Or shall their ruthlesse torment never cease:

But al my dayes in pining languor spend,

Without hope of asswagement or release?

Is there no meanes for me to purchase peace,

Or make agreement with her thrilling eyes:

But that their cruelty doth still increace,

And dayly more augment my miseryes?

But when ye have shewed all extremityes,

Then thinke how litle glory ye have gained,

By slaying him, whose lyfe though ye despyse,

Mote have your life in honour long maintayned.

But by his death, which some perhaps will mone,

Ye shall condemnéd be of many a one.