20 October 2007 | Vol. 7, No. 3

Love (III)

by GEORGE HERBERT

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,

            Guiltie of dust and sinne.

But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack

            From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,

            If I lack'd any thing.

A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here:

            Love said, you shall be he.

I the unkinde, ungratefull? Ah my deare,

            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, sayes Love, who bore the blame?

            My deare, then I will serve.

You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat:

            So I did sit and eat.