Sonnet 41. Why do I speak of joy, or write of love

Michael Drayton (1563–1631)

[First printed in 1594 (No. 43), and in all later editions.]

Love’s Lunacy

WHY do I speak of joy, or write of love,

When my heart is the very den of horror;

And in my soul the pains of hell I prove,

With all his torments and infernal terror?

What should I say? What yet remains to do?

My brain is dry with weeping all too long.

My sighs be spent in uttering of my woe,

And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong.

But still distracted in Love’s lunacy,

And Bedlamlike, thus raving in my grief.

Now rail upon her hair, then on her eye,

Now call her “Goddess!” then I call her “Thief!”

Now I deny her! then I do confess her!

Now do I curse her! then again I bless her!