Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,And make me travel forth without my cloak,To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,For no man well of such a salve can speakThat heals the wound and cures not the disgrace:Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:The offender's sorrow lends but weak reliefTo him that bears the strong offence's cross. Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.
Every time I agree to be hostedby my special hottie, I'm roasted.Despite my travails,my beau always bails.Turns out even The Bard can get ghosted.