"How is this? Why should the blamer abuse thee in his pride?
What shall console my heart for thee, that art but slender bough?
A Nature Kohl'd[FN#252] eye thou hast that witcheth far and wide;
From pure platonic love[FN#253] of it deliverance none I trow!
Those glances, fell as plundering Turk, to heart such havoc deal
As never havocked scymitar made keenest at the curve.
On me thou layest load of love the heaviest while I feel
So feeble grown that under weight of chemisette I swerve.
My love for thee as wottest well is habit, and my lowe
Is nature; to all others false is all the love I tender:
Now were my heart but like to shine I never would say No;
Only my wasted form is like thy waist so gracious slender:
Out on him who in Beauty's robe for moon like charms hath fame,
And who is claimed by mouth of men as marvel of his tribe!
'Of man what manner may he be' (ask they who flyte and blame)
'For whom thy heart is so distressed?' I only cry 'Describe!'
Oh stone-entempered heart of him! learn of his yielding grace
And bending form to show me grace and yielding to consent.
Oh my Prince Beautiful, thou hast an Overseer in place[FN#254]
Who irketh me, and eke a Groom whose wrong cloth ne'er relent.