The poem
Taking my pen, with words to cast my woe, Duly to count the sum of all my cares, I find my griefs innumerable grow, The reckonings rise to millions of despairs; And thus dividing of my fatal hours, The payments of my love I read and cross, Subtracting, set my sweets unto my sours, My joy's arrearage leads me to my loss; And thus mine eye's a debtor to thine eye, Which by extortion gaineth all their looks; My heart hath paid such grievous usury That all their wealth lies in thy beauty's books, And all is thine which hath been due to me, And I a bankrupt, quite undone by thee.