I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.

And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down. Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me.

Come, knock and enter; and no sooner in, But every man betake him to his legs.