Light becomes day in the seconds come,

Will sun have killed by pressing thumb;

Thou wilt not ever to me prove

That wantest me to be thy love.

 

Thy gifts are faded by discord

Of words thou blabb’st to me accord

To make me red for all to see,

 Humility thou makest be.

 

Thy jewels seem as idle as

Thy skill that lacks the grace He has;

So I’m not satisfied by thee,

Nor jest thou seem’st so to plea.

 

I’m no empress to thy flowers,

Nor I need thee give me powers;

Love for me becometh the lust

Thou wilt have once myself hast thrust.

 

I am afeared by heights thou say’st,

The eerie gazings thou think may’st

Become of them, myself an idol,

Put myself adornèd bridle;

 

But their looks do give me pleasure,

Mark me countless sights a treasure,

For more wrongs exist in picture;

Need not future with thy stricture.

 

Prithee, hold thy trivial speech,

Or will I stand to thee impeach;

I’ll none have, nor will make me move

To live with thee and be thy love.