Sonet 15

Stay blubring pen to spot one that's so pure;
She is my loue, although she be vnkind,
I must admire that diamantine mind,
And praise those eyes that do my death procure:
Nor will I willingly those thoughts endure,
That are to such apostasie inclin'd.
Shall she, euen she in whom all vertue shin'd,
Be wrong'd by me? shall I her worth iniure?
No, rather let me die, and die disdain'd,
Long ere I thinke, much lesse I speake the thing,
That may disgrace vnto her beautie bring,
Who ore my fancies hath so sweetly raign'd.
If any pitying me will damne her part,
Ile make th'amends, and for her errour smart.