Fain would I change that note
To which fond Love hath charm'd me
Long, long to sing by rote,
Fancying that that harm'd me:
Yet when this thought [bad word] 
'Love is the perfect sum
Of all delight!'
I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice
To sing or write.

O Love! they wrong thee much
That say thy [bad word] 1 is bitter,
When thy [rich]2 [bad word] is such
As nothing can be sweeter.
Fair house of joy and bliss,
Where [bad word] pleasure is,
I do adore thee:
I know thee what thou art,
I serve thee with my heart,
And fall before thee.