If doubt do darken things held dear,
Then well-fare nothing, once a year;
For many run, but one must win,
Fools only hedge the cuckoo in.
The worth that worthiness should move,
Is Love, that is the bow of Love;
And love as well the foster can,
As can the mighty noble-man:—
Sweet saint, ’tis true, you worthy be,
Yet, without love, nought worth to me.