In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote;
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain
That she that makes me sin awards me pain
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote;
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain
That she that makes me sin awards me pain
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