When the devout religion of mine eye
Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fire;
And these who, often drowned, could never die,
Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars.
One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun
Ne'er saw her match since first the world begun.
You are a lover. Borrow Cupid's wings
And soar with them above a common bound
I am too sore enpiercèd 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 boist'rous, and it pricks like thorn.
If love be rough with you, be rough with love.
Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.