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