Over our minds thou dost hold sway:
Thou art indeed a fear-full sight
Thy dark’ning soul obscures the day.
We ken well that you wish us ill,
And harsh and lordly art thy deeds,
Nor can we earn by art or skill
Thy grace: thy malice far exceeds
What we can bear, yet ever more
We crave the haven of your hate
And shun the light thou doth abhor
For Suffering, Thy holy state:
Tear every shred of joy from me,
My pain a sacrifice to thee.
Outeast
I am not absolutely sure that Shakespeare would have used ken in the sense that survives only in Scottish dialect, but this is a smooth and unemphatic sonnet, with no straining after effect and some telling imagery. Derivative in places, but well done, considering that the poet allegedly composed it while on a bed of pain.