TILL now I never did believe A man could love for virtue's sake; Nor thought the absence of one love could grieve The man that freely might another take. But since mine eyes betrothed my heart to you, I find both true; Thine innocence hath so my love refined, I mourn thy body's absence for thy mind. Till now I never made an oath But with a purpose to forswear, For to be fixed upon one face were sloth, When every lady's eye is Cupid's sphere; But if she merits faith from every breast, Who is the best Of woman-kind? how then can I be free To love another, having once loved thee? Such is the rare and happy power Of goodness, that it can dilate Itself to make one virtuous in an hour, Who lived before, perhaps a reprobate; Then since on me this wonder thou hast done, Prithee, work on Upon thyself, thy sex doth want that grace My truth to love, more than a better face. |