And His Unkindness May Defeat My Life,

The Extreme Parts Of Time Extremely Forms All Causes To The Purpose Of His Speed.

So May I, Blind Fortune Leading Me, Miss That Which One Unworthier May Attain, And Die With Grieving.

I Love Thee So, That, Maugre All Thy Pride, Nor Wit Nor Reason Can My Passion Hide. Do Not Extort Thy Reasons From This Clause, For That I Woo, Thou Therefore Hast No Cause But Rather Reason Thus With Reason Fetter, Love Sought Is Good, But Given Unsought Better.

Now Stand You On The Top Of Happy Hours, And Many Maiden Gardens Yet Unset, With Virtuous Wish Would Bear You Living Flowers, Much Liker Than Your Painted Counterfeit: So Should The Lines Of Life That Life Repair Which This, Time's Pencil, Or My Pupil Pen Neither In Inward Worth Nor Outward Fair Can Make You Live Your Self In Eyes Of Men.

I Do Oppose My Patience To His Fury, And Am Arm'd To Suffer, With A Quietness Of Spirit, The Very Tyranny And Rage Of His.