SONNET. XLII. The loue which me so cruelly tormenteth, So pleasing is in my extreamest paine: that all the more my sorrow it augmenteth, the more I loue and doe embrace my bane. Ne doe I wish (for wishing were but vaine) to be acquit fro my continuall smart: but ioy her thrall for euer to remayne, and yield for pledge my poore captyued hart; The which that it from her may neuer start, let her, yf please her, bynd with adamant chayne: and from all wandring loues which mote peruart his safe assurance, strongly it restrayne. Onely let her abstaine from cruelty, and doe me not before my time to dy.