Page:Poems and ballads (IA balladspoems00swinrich).pdf/227

 Seeing reason wills not that I cast love by (Nor here with reason shall I chide or fret) Nor cease to serve, but serve more constantly; This is the end for which we twain are met.

And, which is more, when grief about me clings Through Fortune's fit or fume of jealousy, Your sweet kind eye beats down her threatenings As wind doth smoke; such power sits in your eye. Thus in your field my seed of harvestry Thrives, for the fruit is like me that I set; God bids me tend it with good husbandry; This is the end for which we twain are met.

Princess, give ear to this my summary; That heart of mine your heart's love should forget Shall never be: like trust in you put I: This is the end for which we twain are met.