Though I myself be bridled of my mind, Returning me backward by force express, If thou seek honour to keep thy promise, Who may thee hold, my heart, but thou thyself unbind? Sign then no more since no way man may find Thy virtue to let though that frowardness Of fortune me holdeth; and yet as I may guess, Though other be present, thou art not all behind. Suffice it then that thou be ready there At all hours, still under the defence Of time, truth, and love to save thee from offence, Crying, 'I burn in a lovely desire With my dear master's that may not follow, Whereby his absence turneth him to sorrow.' |