I am thy servant, Love, and bear thy sign,
Which is to suffer; would, O Love, that thou
To my forlorn estate wouldst deign to bow,
And looking on me with those eyes of thine,
And calling me by this poor name of mine,
Win me my secret sorrow to avow,
Saying: 'My servant, who doth wrong thee now,
Whom I to work thy pleasure may incline?'

And I, for thou art very Love, will make
Confession of my griefs; and thou, for I
Am what I cannot choose but be, will take
The part against me as our case you try,
Proving me guilty for my weak heart's sake;
Well knowing it must either love or die.