140      Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press      My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain,      Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express      The manner of my pity-wanting pain.      If I might teach thee wit, better it were,      Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so -      As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,      No news but health from their physicians know.      For if I should despair, I should grow mad,      And in my madness might speak ill of thee;      Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,      Mad slanderers by mad ears believ d be,      That I may not be so, nor thou belied,      Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide...