What lady’s that which doth enrich the hand
Of yonder knight?
O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright.
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
As a rich jewel in an Ethiop’s ear—
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand.
And touching hers, make blessed by rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight.
For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.
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