Sonnet 66. Tired with all these for restful death I cry

Tired with all these for restful death I cry

As to behold desert a beggar born

And needy nothing trimmed in jollity

And purest faith unhappily forsworn

And gilded honour shamefully misplaced

And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted

And right perfection wrongfully disgraced

And strength by limping sway disabled