|
|
| Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage | 1 |
|
|
| Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, |
|
|
| To thee I send this written embassage, |
|
|
| To witness duty, not to show my wit: |
|
|
| Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine | 5 |
|
|
| May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, |
|
|
| But that I hope some good conceit of thine |
|
|
| In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it: |
|
|
| Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, |
|
|
| Points on me graciously with fair aspect, | 10 |
|
|
| And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, |
|
|
| To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: |
|
|
 Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; |
|
|
| Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me. |
|
|
