My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.
O call not me to justify the wrong, That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, Use power with power, and slay me not by art.
Love, which teacheth me that thou and I am one
Shine out fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass.
Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.