XXVI

    Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage¹ Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit, To thee I send this written embassage, To witness duty, not to show my wit： Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it, But that I hope some good conceit² of thine In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow³ it： Till whatsoever⁴ star that guides my moving, Points on me graciously with fair aspect, And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving, To show me worthy⁵ 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.