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by George Herbert

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
       Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd 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, the 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.