Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,

                                Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

                                 From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,

                                 If I lacked anything.

'A guest', I answered, 'worthy to be here.'

                                 Love said, 'You shall be he.'

'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,

                                 I cannot look at thee.'

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,

                                 'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord, but I have marred them; let my shame

                                  Go where it doth deserve.'

'And know you not', says Love, 'who bore the blame?'

                                  'My dear, then I will serve.'

'You must sit down', says Love, 'and taste my meat.'

                                            So I did sit and eat.