When in disgrace with fortune in men's eyes, I all alone bewep my outcast state and trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries and look upon myself and curse my fate. Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, featured like him. Like him with friends possessed, desiring this man's art and that man's scope, with what I most enjoy contented least. Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, happily I think on thee, and then my state, like to the lark at break of day, arising from sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate.
