untaught! What manners is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy cheek the stain doth sit Of an old tear that is not this better now than groaning for love? Now art thou that, thus bescreen’d in night So stumblest on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou at once run on