Love bade me welcome： yet my soul drew back，
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love， observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in，
Drew nearer to me， sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
"A guest，" I answered， "worthy to be here"：
Love said， "You shall be he."
"I， the unkind， ungrateful？ Ah， my dear，
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand， and smiling did reply，
"Who made the eyes but I？"
"Truth， Lord； but I have marred them； let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not，" says Love， "who bore the blame？"
"My dear， then I will serve."
"You must sit down，" says Love， "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.