| LORD of my love, to whom in vassalage | |
| Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, | |
| To thee I send this written ambassage, | |
| To witness duty, not to show my wit: | |
| Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine | 5 |
| May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, | |
| But that I hope some good conceit of thine | |
| In thy soul’s thought, all naked, will bestow it; | |
| Till whatsoever star that guides my moving | |
| Points on me graciously with fair aspect, | 10 |
| And puts apparel on my tatter’d loving, | |
| To show me worthy of thy sweet respect: | |
| Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee; | |
| Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me. |