My mistress lowers, and saith I do not love: I do protest, and seek with service due, In humble mind, a constant faith to prove; But for all this, I cannot her remove From deep vain thought that I may not be true.

If oaths might serve, evn by the Stygian lake, Which poets say the gods themselves do fear, I never did my vowed word forsake: For why should I, whom free choice slave doth make, Else-what in face, than in my fancy bear?

My Muse, therefore, for only thou canst tell, Tell me the cause of this my causeless woe? Tell, how ill thought disgraced my doing well? Tell, how my joys and hopes thus foully fell To so low ebb that wonted were to flow?

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