From the Temple (1633), by George Herbert
Love (III)
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 any thing.
A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he
I the unkinde, 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, sayes Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
