CXL

    Be wise as thou art cruel； do not press My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain¹； 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 testy² 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 belied³, Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.