CXL. Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
        
          Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
          My tongue- tied patience with too much disdain;
          Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express
          The manner of my pity- wanting pain.
          If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
          Though not to love, yet, love to tell me so;--
          As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,
          No news but health from their physicians know;--
          For, if I should despair, I should grow mad,
          And in my madness might speak ill of thee;
          Now this ill- wresting world is grown so bad,
          Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
          		 That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
          		 Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.