Love
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.
'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here:'
Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
'Who made the eyes but I?'
'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'Who bore the blame?'
'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
So I did sit and eat.
George Herbert's festival day today! Happy Herbert Day, chaps, and a glorious day it is.
Miranda laughs at herself, and that's why I like it. She's taking the mickey out of herself, all the time, for being a bit clumsy, and a bit fat, and a bit gauche, and because she does daft things all the time that make her look like a div. It's a celebration of Miranda in all her weirdness and lack of elegance. That's why I like it.