Out on the heart that has not faith enough
To recognize another's constancy;
That vaunts its arrogant fidelity,
And scorns another as of meaner stuff!
It is my fate to bear the spurn and cuff
of her, whose duty 'tis, confidingly,
To find her boasted honesty in me,
And spare my love unmerited rebuff.
O read my heart by what you see within
The purer cloister of that virgin shrine
On which I look as on a thing divine;
And charge my nature with no grosser sin,
Than striving humbly from thy heaven to win
An earthly likeness for this heart of mine.