Dedication of These Rhymes to His First Love

If my harsh humble style, and rhymes ill dressed.
Arrive not to your worth and beauty glorious.
My Muse's shoulders are with weight oppressed,
And heavenly beams are o'er my fight victorious.
If these dim colours have your worth expressed,
Laid by love's hand, and not by art laborious.
Your sun-like rays have my wits' harvest blessed,
Enabling me to make your praise notorious.
But if, alas! alas! the heavens defend it!
My lines your eyes, my love your heart displeasing.
Breed hate in you, and kill my hope of easing;
Say, with yourself, how can the wretch amend it?
I wond'rous fair, he wond'rous dearly loving,
How can his thoughts but make his pen be moving?