Sonet 100

All that behold me on thy beauties shelfe, To cast my selfe away toss'd with conceit, Since thou wilt haue no pitie of my state, Would that I tooke some pitie of my selfe: For what, say they, though she disdaine to bow, And takes a pleasure for to see thee sad, Yet there be many a one that would be glad, To bost themselves of such a one as thou. But ah their counsell of small knowledge sauours, For O poore fooles, they see not what I see, Thy frownes are sweeter then their smiles can be, The worst of thy disdaines worth all their fauours: I rather (deare) of thine one looke to haue, Then of another all that I would craue.