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 lacked anything.

 

A guest, I answered, 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 replay,

who made the eyes but I?

 

Truth Lord, but I have marred 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.

 

George Herbert. Wales, England (1593-1633)