Sonet 67

A: What art thou, in such sort that wail'st thy fall,
And comes surcharg'd with an excessiue griefe?

H: A wofull wretch, that comes to craue releefe,
And was his heart that now hath none at all.

A: Why dost thou thus to me vnfold thy state,
As if with thy mishaps I would imbroile me?

H: Because the loue I bare to you did spoile me,
And was the instrument of my hard fate:

A: And dare so base a wretch so high aspire,
As for to pleade for interest in my grace?
Go get thee hence; or if thou do not cease,
I vow to burne thee with a greater fire:

H: Ah, ah, this great vnkindnes stops my breath,
Since those that I loue best procure my death.