Virelais

— Tacet —

'Tis  true, 'tis day, what though it be? 
O wilt thou there fore rise from me? 
Why should we rise, be cause 'tis light? 
Did we lie downe because 'twas night ? 
Love which in spight of dark brought us hether,
Should in spight of light keepe us together. 
Light hath no tongue, but is all eye; 
If it could speake as well as spie, 
This were the worst, that it could say, 
That being well, I faine would stay, 
And that I lov'd my heart and honor so 
That I would not from him, that had them, goe.
Must businesse thee from hence remove? 
Oh, that's the worst disease of love,
The poore, the foule, the false, love can 
Admit, but not the busied man . 
He which hath businesse, and makes love, doth doe 
Such wrong, as when a maryed man doth wooe. 
'Tis a tempo true, 'tis day, what though it be? 
O wilt thou therefore rise from me?

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy;
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.