Sonnet LXXIII. Why did rich Nature, Graces grant to thee?

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

WHY did rich Nature, Graces grant to thee?

Since Thou art such a niggard of thy grace!

Or how can Graces in thy body be?

Where neither they, nor pity find a place!

Ah, they be Handmaids to thy Beauty’s Fury!

Making thy face to tyrannize on men.

Condemned before thy Beauty, by Love’s Jury;

And by thy frowns, adjudged to Sorrow’s Den:

Grant me some grace! for Thou, with grace art wealthy;

And kindly may’st afford some gracious thing.

Mine hopes all, as my mind, weak and unhealthy;

All her looks gracious, yet no grace do bring

To me, poor wretch! Yet be the Graces there!

But I, the Furies in my breast do bear!