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, or my five senses
Can dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unswayed 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 make me sin, awards me pain

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