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| Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, | 1 |
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| And make me travel forth without my cloak, |
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| To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, |
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| Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? |
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| 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, | 5 |
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| To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, |
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| For no man well of such a salve can speak, |
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| That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace: |
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| Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; |
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| Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: | 10 |
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| The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief |
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| To him that bears the strong offence's cross. |
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 Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, |
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| And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds. |
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