Sonnet XXXIV: The Star of My Mishap

The star of my mishap impos’d this paining,
To spend the April of my years in wailing
That never found my fortune but in waning,
With still fresh cares my present woes assailing.
Yet her I blame not, though she might have blest me,
But my desire’s wings, so high aspiring,
Now melted with the sun that hath possess’d me,
Down do I fall from off my high desiring,
And in my fall do cry for speedy speedy.
No pitying eye looks back upon my mourning,
No help I find when now most favor need I;
Th’ocean of my tears must drown me burning.
And this my death shall christen her anew,
And give the cruel Fair her title do.