1593-1603 by Shakespeare 
Sonnet 140 

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