Sonnet 140

1 Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press
2 My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain:
3 Lest sorrow lend me words and words express,
4 The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
5 If I might teach thee wit better it were,
6 Though not to love, yet love to tell me so,
7 As testy sick men when their deaths be near,
8 No news but health from their physicians know.
9 For if I should despair I should grow mad,
10 And in my madness might speak ill of thee,
11 Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
12 Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
13 That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
14 Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.