Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 45

Stella oft sees the very face of woe 
      Painted in my beclouded stormy face, 
      But cannot skill to pity my disgrace, 
      Not though thereof the cause herself she know; 
Yet hearing late a fable, which did show 
      Of lovers never known a grievous case, 
      Pity thereof gat in her breast such place 
That, from that sea derived, tears' spring did flow. 
      Alas, if fancy drawn by imaged things, 
Though false, yet with free scope more grace doth breed 
Than servant's wrack, where new doubts honor brings; 
Then think, my dear, that you in me do read 
      Of lover’s ruin some sad tragedy. 
      I am not I; pity the tale of me.