Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak;
Lay open to my earthy-gross conceit,
35 Smother’d in errors, feeble, [shallow], weak,
The folded meaning of your words’ deceit.
Against my soul’s pure truth why labour you
To make it wander in an unknown field?
Are you a god? would you create me new?
40 Transform me, then, and to your power I’ll yield.
But if that I am I, then well I know
Your weeping sister is no wife of mine,