Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,

Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,

If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'

Love said, 'You shall be he.'

'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,

I cannot look on Thee.'

Love took my hand, and smiling, did reply,

'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, LORD, but I have marr'd them; let my shame

Go where it doth deserve.'

'And know you not,' says Love, 'who bore the blame?'

'My dear, then I will serve.'

You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'

So I did sit and eat.