The Third Decade. Sonnet IX. Woe to mine eyes! the organs of mine ill

Henry Constable (1562–1613)

WOE to mine eyes! the organs of mine ill;

Hate to my heart! for not concealing joy;

A double curse upon my tongue be still!

Whose babbling lost what else I might enjoy.

When first mine eyes did with thy beauty toy,

They to my heart thy wondrous virtues told;

Who, fearing lest thy beams should him destroy,

Whate’er he knew, did to my tongue unfold.

My tell-tale tongue, in talking over bold,

What they in private council did declare,

To thee! in plain and public terms unrolled:

And so by that, made thee more coyer far.

What in thy praise he spoke, that didst thou trust!

And yet my sorrows, thou dost hold unjust!