1593-1603 by Shakespeare 
Sonnet 66 

1	Tired with all these, for restful death I cry:
2	As, to behold desert a beggar born,
3	And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
4	And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
5	And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
6	And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
7	And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
8	And strength by limping sway disablèd,
9	And art made tongue-tied by authority,
10	And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
11	And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
12	And captive good attending captain ill.
13	Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
14	Save that to die I leave my love alone.