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CXLI.
In
faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in
thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that
loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is
pleased to dote;
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's
tune delighted,
Nor tender feeling, to base touches
prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five
wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish
heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the
likeness of a man,
Thy proud hearts slave and vassal
wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my
gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.
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