Sonnet 43. Why should your fair eyes, with such sovereign grace

Michael Drayton (1563–1631)

[First printed in 1605 (No. 43), and in all later editions.]

WHY should your fair eyes, with such sovereign grace,

Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit,

Whilst I in darkness, in the self-same place,

Get not one glance to recompense my merit?

So doth the plowman gaze the wandering star,

And only rest contented with the light;

That never learned what constellations are,

Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight.

O why should Beauty (custom to obey),

To their gross sense apply herself so ill!

Would God! I were as ignorant as they!

When I am made unhappy by my skill!

Only compelled on this poor good to boast,

Heavens are not kind to them, that know them most!