Arriveth hand, obedient to his thought.
So, fair and noble lady, e’en in thee,
The good I seek, the evil that I fly,
Remain enveloped; whence reluctant, I
Create my aspiration’s contrary.
It is not love, ’tis not thy beauty fair,
Ungentle pride, thy fortune ruling so,
Nor destiny of mine, that hath to bear
The censure, if my genius faint and low,
While Death and Pity both thou dost conceal,