My heart and tongue were twins, at once conceived,
th'eldest was my heart, born dumb by Destiny,
the last my tongue, of all sweet thoughts bereaved:
yet strung and tun'd to play heart's harmony.

Both knit in one, and yet assunder placed:
what heart would speak the tongue doth still discover.
What tongue doth speak is of the heart embraced,
and both are one to make a new found lover.

New found, and only found in gods and kings,
whose words are deeds, but words nor deeds regarded.
Chaste thoughts do mount and fly with swiftest wings,
my love with pain, my pain with loss rewarded.

Then this be sure, since it is true perfection,
that neither men nor gods can force attention.