Sonnet 43

Why should your faire eyes with such soueraine grace, Dispearse their raies on euery vulgar spirit, Whilst I in darknes in the selfesame place, Get not one glance to recompence my merit: So doth the plow-man gaze the wandring starre, And onely rests contented with the light, That neuer learnd what constellations are, Beyond the bent of his vnknowing sight. O why should beautie (custome to obey) To their grosse sence applie her selfe so ill? Would God I were as ignorant as they When I am made vnhappy by my skill; Onely compeld on this poore good to boast, Heauens are not kind to them that know them most.