O dear my mistress, to convey my prayer.
Perchance, more credulous than I believe,
Thou seest how purely doth my passion burn,
And now art ready toward desire to turn,
As he who asketh mercy must receive.
If so befall, on that thrice happy day
Let course of time be suddenly complete,
The sun give over his primeval race;
That through no merit of my own, I may
Henceforth forever, my desirèd sweet