What juvenile pursuit of this is mine,
O idle, dumb, and deaf and constant door?
Why turn in dark and vain but for a sign
Of her affections? None; I knock thee more.
O, let me not perturb thy mistress’ sleep,
And my peiratic knockings be her foe,
Whose face alone doth cause my heart to leap,
The world to break, and there a new to grow,
Where once the old had deigned to turn about
And men to strife. But hers is one of peace,
So turneth not, nor giveth fears or doubt.
So let her come to thee, with me this cease,
So two may stand in joy, though still two move
And so the world enjoy and face in love.
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