Prescanned Shakespeare.com
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Mine^eye | hath played | the paint|er and | hath
steeled,
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Thy beaut|y's form | in tab|le of | my heart;
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My bo|dy is | the frame | wherein | 'tis held,
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And per|spective | that is / best paint|er's art.
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For through | the paint|er must | you see | his
skill,
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To find where your | true^im|age pic|tured
lies,
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Which^in | my bos|om's shop | is hang|ing still,
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That hath | his wind|ows glaz|ed with |
thine^eyes.
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Now* see | what good | turns^eyes | for eyes |
have done:
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Mine^eyes | have drawn | thy shape, | and thine | for
me
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Are wind|ows to | my breast, | where* through |
the sun
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Delights | to peep,| to gaze | therein | on thee;
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Yet^eyes | this cun|ning want | to grace |
their^art,
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They draw | but what | they see, | know not | the
heart.