I never stoop'd so low, as they Which on an eye, cheek, lip, can prey; Seldom to them which soar no higher Than virtue, or the mind to admire. For sense and understanding may Know what gives fuel to their fire; My love, though silly, is more brave; For may I miss, whene'er I crave, If I know yet what I would have.
If that be simply perfectest, Which can by no way be express'd But negatives, my love is so. To all, which all love, I say no. If any who deciphers best, What we know not—ourselves—can know, Let him teach me that nothing. This As yet my ease and comfort is, Though I speed not, I cannot miss.