Sonnet 12
Not long I need to let mine heart to shrink
From thine earnest appeal wherein did sink
And firm beneath its heav’nly charm it live
With glorious joyance thence loth to upheave.
So gently thou this time me importune
That any keener soul of love must croon,
But see how alters brisk one’s erstwhile dearest
And heedeth not entreaties that thou makest.
Mayst thou complain I furnish this with art
Of garrulity to reproach, than thou wert,
Thee for thy ways capricious unto me,
As my sweet fury ne’er can I show thee.
Yet cautious I whisper to realms inmost,
Retrieve the passions though alone we boast.
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