Dear, why make you more of a dog than me? <br />If he do love, I burn, I burn in love; <br />If he wait well, I never thence would move; <br />If he be fair, yet but a dog can be. <br /> <br />Little he is, so little worth is he; <br />He barks, my songs thine own voice oft doth prove: <br />Bidden perhaps he fetcheth thee a glove, <br />But I unbid, fetch ev'n my soul to thee. <br /> <br />Yet while I languish, him that bosom clips, <br />That lap doth lap, nay lets in spite of spite <br />This sour-breath'd mate taste of those sugar'd lips. <br /> <br />Alas, if you grant only such delight <br />To witless thngs, then Love I hope (since wit <br />Becomes a clog) will soon ease me of it.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-59-dear-why-make-you-more/
