1 Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,
2 As, to behold desert a beggar born,
3 And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
4 And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
5 And guilded honour shamefully misplac'd,
6 And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
7 And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,
8 And strength by limping sway disabled,
9 And art made tongue-tied by authority,
10 And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
11 And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
12 And captive good attending captain ill:
13 Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
14 Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.
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