SONNET 69

Sonnet.69-And to the gravest of mischief,thou canst not console thyself,nor solace seeks,Thy consolation dire amiss but bleak,thy contemplative constellations stricken gaunt though suffuse nebulous,Love not muchless,and much more in gospel need be cast aboard,merchandis'd contigent,like the gauchy tongue,doth not vociferous weary,so shall the constellation greedily contemplates,spreading its blanket sabled,betwixt this behindhand violets'cluster