Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back, Guiltie of dust and sinne.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, If I lack'd anything.
A guest,
I answer'd, worthy to be here: Love said,
You shall be he.
I the unkinde, the ungratefull?
Ah my deare, I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame? My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat.
Glorie be to God on high, and on earth peace, good will towards men.
