Upon Her Giving Him Back the Paper whereon the Former Song Was Written, as though It Had Been an Answer Thereunto

Lady of matchless beauty;
When into your sweet bosom I delivered
A paper, with wan looks, and hand that quivered
'Twixt hope, fear, love, and duty;
Thought you it nothing else contained
But written words in rhyme restrained?
Oh then your thought abused was;
My heart close wrapt therein, into your breast infused was.

When you that scroll restored me
With grateful words, kind grace, and smiling merrily,
My breast did swell with joy, supposing verily
You answer did afford me.
But finding only that I writ,
I hoped to find my heart in it:
But you my hope abused had.
And poison of despair instead thereof infused had.

Why, why did you torment me,
With giving back my humble rhymes so hatefully?
You should have kept both heart and paper gratefully,
Or both you should have sent me.
Hope you my heart thence to remove.
By scorning me, my lines, my love?
No, no; your hope abused is.
Too deep to be removed, it in your breast infused is.

Oh, shall I hide or tell it?
Dear, with so spotless, zealous, firm affection,
I love your beauty, virtue, and perfection,
As nothing can expel it.
Scorn still my rhymes, my love despite,
Pull out my heart, yea kill me quite;
Yet will your hate abused be,
For in my very soul, your love and looks infused be.