Sonnet 34

　　Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day

　　And make me travel forth without my cloak，

　　To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way，

　　Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke？

　　'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break

　　To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face，

　　For no man well of such a salve can speak

　　That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace.

　　Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief；

　　Though thou repent