The Love Sonnets of Proteus, Gods and False Gods, LXI: To One excusing his Poverty

All ! love, impute it not to me a sin
That my poor soul thus beggared comes to thee.
My soul a pilgrim was, in search of thine,
And met these accidents by land and sea.
The world was hard, and took its usury,
Its toll for each new night in each new inn ;
And every road had robber bands to fee ;
And all, even kindness, must be paid in coin.
Behold my scrip is empty, my heart bare.
I give thee nothing who my all would give.
My pilgrimage is finished, and I fare
Bare to my death, unless with thee I live.
Ah ! give, love, and forgive that I am poor.
Ah ! take me to thy arms and ask no more.