Sonnet 66

1 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry:
2 As to behold desert a beggar born,
3 And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
4 And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
5 And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
6 And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
7 And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
8 And strength by limping sway disabled
9 And art made tongue-tied by authority,
10 And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
11 And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
12 And captive good attending captain ill.
13 Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
14 Save that to die, I leave my love alone.