My Sweet’, you say my poems are ease to read.
My Shakespeare not a pain to you, my dear
Oh, yea! (I say. . .with much relief indeed!)
You like to read my poem, my poem so mere.
I wond’ if Shakespeare would as well like mine?
No matter, Sweet’, it is to you I write.
I think the truth you tell to me, so kind
The truth that write I soon with all my might!
In thanks I write you now, my Sweet’, my all.
The best of me you are for sure, indeed!
Just say the word, my Sweet’, I come when call’.
Your love the key to write, you see—the seed!
I do so love that write is ease to me;
You say you like, I write the more, you see?