beauty039;s form in table of my heart,
My body is the frame wherein 039;tis held,
And perspective it is best painter039;s art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies,
Whibsp;in my bosom039;s shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows gzed with thine eyes:
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done,
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my east, wherethrough the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this ing want to
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