Page 1970 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1

I hope my master’s suit will be but cold,
Since she respects my mistress’ love so much.
Alas, how love can trifle with itself!
Here is her picture; let me see. I think [180]
If I had such a tire this face of mine
Were full as lovely as is this of hers;
And yet the painter flattered her a little,
Unless I flatter with myself too much.
Her hair is auburn, mine is perfect yellow; [185]
If that be all the difference in his love,
I’ll get me such a coloured periwig.
Her eyes are grey as glass, and so are mine;
Ay, but her forehead’s low, and mine’s as high.
What should it be that he respects in her [190]
But I can make respective in myself,
If this fond Love were not a blinded god?
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,
For ’tis thy rival. O, thou senseless form,
Thou shalt be worshipped, kissed, loved, and adored! [195]
And were there sense in his idolatry,
My substance should be statue in thy stead.
I’ll use thee kindly for thy mistress’ sake,
That used me so; or else, by Jove I vow,
I should have scratched out your unseeing eyes, [200]
To make my master out of love with thee!

Exit.