O Gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed, 
Thou makest my heart 
A bloody mark 
With piercing shot to bleed. 
Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss, 
For fear too keen 
Thy arrows been, 
And hist the heart where my beloved is. 
Too fair that fortune were, nor never I 
Shall be so blest, 
Among the rest, 
That Love shall seize on her by sympathy. 
Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot, 
This doth remain 
To cease my pain, 
I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot.