If that a loyall hart and faith vnfained,
If a sweete languish with a chast desire:
If hunger-staruen thoughts so long retayned,
Fed but with smoake, and cherisht but with fire.
And if a brow with cares caracters painted,
Bewraies my loue, with broken words halfe spoken,
To her that sits in my thoughts Temple sainted,
And layes to view my Vultur-gnawne hart open.
If I haue doone due homage to her eyes,
And had my sighes styll tending on her name:
If on her loue my life and honour lyes;
And she th’vnkindest maide still scornes the same.
Let this suffice, the world yet may see;
The fault is hers, though mine the hurt must bee.