TURNED to a stone was he that did bewray,
Unwitting, to the crafty thief himself
The theft; not thinking he had stolen the prey,
In hope to gain a little paltry pelf.
So I, who unawares to cruel Thee,
The robber of my heart, confessed the theft;
A senseless stone like BATTUS am to see:
Only in this unlike that shape bereft,
That where to worthless stone he turnèd was;
I for a Touchstone true of Love do pass.