I curs'd thee oft, I pity now thy case, <br />Blind-hitting boy, since she that thee and me <br />Rules with a beck, so tyrannizeth thee, <br />That thou must want or food, or dwelling place, <br /> <br />For she protest to banish thee her face. <br />Her face? Oh Love, a rogue thou then shouldst be! <br />If Love learn not alone to love and see, <br />Without desire to feed of further grace. <br /> <br />Alas poor wag, that now a scholar art <br />To such a schoolmistress, whose lessons new <br />Thou needs must miss, and so thou needs must smart. <br /> <br />Yet dear, let me his pardon get of you, <br />So long (though he from book miche to desire) <br />Till without fuel you can make hot fire.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-46-i-curs-d-thee-oft/
