Sonnet Two

While yet thou liest tangled in my mind
Look thou but not a moment on my world,
So rare that I with ardent passion find
That oft’ my good intentions are unfurlèd.
I hold this sorrow and would not command
That thou shouldst feel the pain thy hand inflicts,
I ask, my friend, that thou be not alarmed
That sometimes hope and reason can conflict.
Feel not the flame of my suppressed desire
For soon I shall not long to hear thy voice,
If this be true I am confessed a liar
If this wretch still condemns thy dreadful choice.
    Though seldom I protest thee I adore;
    I am resolv’d to love thee all the more.