Sonnet 7

I do but ask that you be always fair

That I forever may continue kind;

Knowing me what I am, you should not dare

To lapse from beauty ever, nor seek to bind

My alterable mood with lesser cords:

Weeping and such soft matters but invite

To further vagrancy, and bitter words

Chafe soon to irremediable flight.

Wherefore I pray you if you love me dearly,

Less dear to hold me than your own bright charms,

Whence it may fall that until death, or nearly,

I shall not move to struggle from your arms;

Fade if you must; I would but bid you be

Like the sweet year, doing all things graciously