sonnet

O, call not me to justify the wrongThat thy unkindness lays upon my heart;Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;Use power with power and slay me not by art.Tell me thou lovest elsewhere, but in my sight,Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:What need'st thou wound with cunning when thy mightIs more than my o'er-press'd defense can bide?Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knowsHer pretty looks have been mine enemies,And therefore from my face she turns my foes,That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.