Sonnet 66

　　Tired with all these，for restful death I cry：

　　As，to behold Desert a beggar born，

　　And needy Nothing trimmed in jollity，

　　And purest Faith unhappily forsworn，

　　And gilded Honour shamefully misplaced，

　　And maiden Virtue rudely strumpeted，

　　And right Perfection wrongfully disgraced，

　　And Strength by limping Sway disabled，

　　And Art made tongue—tied by Authority，

　　And Folly，doctor—like，control