SONNET XXXV

My friend, ungrateful Love, who well must know
with what pure constancy my faith I keep,
exerting his base pride, which is to heap
upon his dearest friend his heaviest woe,—

fearing that if I write, and publish so
his deeds, his grandeur I abate, his force
not equalling his spite, has had recourse
to the fierce intervention of my foe;

and in the noble part with which I wield
the sword, and that which gives intelligence
of our conceptions, I have wounded been;

but I will take good care that the offence
shall cost the offender dear, now I am healed,
offended, free, and for repayment keen.