I yield my heart, vouchsafe my service space
That to my lady I suffice alone,
Peing all hers, and that her beauteous face
And her regard that doth all pain erase,
Bend pitying on me and not refuse
Her tender eyes ; I ask no other grace.
Thanks be to thee, who mad'st me her to choose.
Ah, God of Love, ere that I run my race,
Vouchsafe I may alone content her, whose
I am always, in good and evil case.
Thanks be to thee, who mad'st me her to choose.