Hast thou bequeathed thy love to another?
Perchance given thy heart to my brother?
And wouldst thou be so cruel as to leave me
Forsaken of all love as if dead to thee?
Oh, how high and haughty thou hast become
To be so naughty to leave me thus lonesome!
May the gods smile upon this wretched soul,
And Panacea apply her balm to fill this hole
Thou hast left in mine own heart torn apart!
Ah! The game of romance is such deadly art,
And I not an artist be, so thou must see
What great extent is thine own cruelty;
Yet shall ye turn away thine eye from me
For the sake of playing harlot so shamelessly?
Note: This is my own paltry attempt at Shakespearean sonnet, being 14 lines with 10 syllables per most lines… Try it at least once, right?