Shakespeare's Sonnets: Tir'd with all these for restful death I cry

Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,As to behold desert a begger born,And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,And purest faith unhappily forsworn,And gilded honour shamefully misplac't,And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,And strength by limping sway disablèd,And art made tongue-tied by authority,And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,And simple-truth miscall'd simplicity,And captive-good attending captain-ill. Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that to die, I leave my love alone.