Sonet 67

A: What art thou, in such sort that wail'st thy fall, And comes surcharg'd with an excessiue griefe? H: A wofull wretch, that comes to craue releefe, And was his heart that now hath none at all. A: Why dost thou thus to me vnfold thy state, As if with thy mishaps I would imbroile me? H: Because the loue I bare to you did spoile me, And was the instrument of my hard fate: A: And dare so base a wretch so high aspire, As for to pleade for interest in my grace? Go get thee hence; or if thou do not cease, I vow to burne thee with a greater fire: H: Ah, ah, this great vnkindnes stops my breath, Since those that I loue best procure my death.