Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
1
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me:
Is't not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
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And my next self thou harder hast engrossed;
Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken,
A torment thrice threefold thus to be crossed.
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
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But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard:
Thou canst not then use rigor in my jail.
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
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Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.