Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
    guilty of dust and sin. But quicked-ey'd Love, Observing me grow slack
    from my first entrance in, Drew near to me, sweetly questioning,
    if I lack'd any thing.

A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here:
    Love said, You should be he. I the unkinde, engrateful? ah my deare,
    I can not look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
    Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I hav 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.

Glory to God on High And on earth Peace good will toward man.