Shall any lady sing, if I not sing,
I to whom Love did full contentment bring?
Come hither, Love, thou cause of all my joy,
Of all my hope, and all its sequel blest,
And with me tune the lay,
No more to sighs and bitter past annoy,
That now but serve to lend thy bliss more zest; But to that fire's clear ray
Wherewith enwrapt I blithely live and gay,
Thee as my God for ever worshipping.
'Twas thou, O Love, didst set before mine eyes,When first thy fire my soul did penetrat
A youth to be my fere,
So fair, so fit for deeds of high emprise