Love
Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin.
But quicked-ey'd Love, Observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew near to me, sweetly questioning, If I lack'd any thing.
A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here:
Love said, You should be he.
I the unkinde, engrateful? ah my deare, I can not look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I?
Truth Lord, but I hav marr'd them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame?
My deare, then I will serve.
You must sit down, sayes love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
George Herbert
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