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 anything.

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

        Love said, You shall be he.

I the unkinde, the 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, says Love, and taste my meat:

      So I did sit and eat.

Glorie be to God on high, and on earth peace,            good will towards men.