The knot which first my heart did strain,
When that your servant I became,
Doth bind me still for to remain
Always your own, as now I am.
And if you find that I do feign,
With just judgement my self I damn
To have disdain
If thou remember not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not loved
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.
O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek
But love is blind and lovers cannot see
The pretty follies that themselves commit;
For, if they could, Cupid himself would blush