| Tell me not of a face that 's fair, | | | Nor lip and cheek that 's red, | | | Nor of the tresses of her hair, | | | Nor curls in order laid, | | | Nor of a rare seraphic voice | 5 | | That like an angel sings; | | | Though if I were to take my choice | | | I would have all these things: | | | But if that thou wilt have me love, | | | And it must be a she, | 10 | | The only argument can move | | | Is that she will love me. | | | | | The glories of your ladies be | | | But metaphors of things, | | | And but resemble what we see | 15 | | Each common object brings. | | | Roses out-red their lips and cheeks, | | | Lilies their whiteness stain; | | | What fool is he that shadows seeks | | | And may the substance gain? | 20 | | Then if thou'lt have me love a lass, | | | Let it be one that 's kind: | | | Else I'm a servant to the glass | | | That 's with Canary lined. | |
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