Sonnet 10

UNRIGHTEOUS Lord of loue, what law is this,

That me thou makest thus tormented be:

The whiles she lordeth in licentious blisse

Of her freewill, scorning both thee and me.

See how the Tyrannesse doth joy to see

The huge massàcres which her eies do make:

And humbled harts brings captiues unto thee,

That thou of them mayst mightie vengeance take.

But her proud hart doe thou a little shake,

And that high look, with which she doth comptroll

All this worlds pride, bow to a baser make,

And al her faults in thy black booke enroll.

That I may laugh at her in equall sort,

As she doth laugh at me, and makes my pain her sport.