Have I such power to stand beside you,
No, no; methink no bother about you.
Oh mistress, I, why repent for you
Though it is certain that I not for you.
Truly say I had had a guilt
You yet say not your but my fault,
Everyone questions my guilty eyes,
While you must blame on blue skies.
Poor! poor lover!
Where art thou, in mine tempest
Perhaps thou in mid-desert
Or under the wooly blanket,
Whatever may be you
Only consider as human,
Only with two hands,
Not more than one face.
If I were a tool,
You indeed tool-maker.
While mother is creator
You indeed my inventor.