Upon Her Commending (though Most Undeservedly) His Verses to His First Love

Praise you those barren rhymes long since composed,
Which my great love, her greater cruelty,
My constant faith, her false inconstancy.
My praiseless style, her o'er-praised worth disclosed?
Oh, if I loved a scornful dame so dearly;
If my wild years did yield so firm affection:
If her moon-beams, short of your sun's perfection,
Taught my hoarse Muse (as you say) to sing clearly,
How much, how much should I love and adore you,
Divinest creature, if you deigned to love me!
What beauty, fortune, time should ever move me,
In these staid years, to like aught else before you?
And oh, how should my Muse by you inspired
Make heaven and earth resound your praise admired!