Page 2441 - Shakespeare - Vol. 1
P. 2441
Dares look upon the heaven of her brow [225]
That is not blinded by her majesty?
KING
What zeal, what fury hath inspired thee now?
My love, her mistress, is a gracious moon;
She, an attending star, scarce seen a light.
BEROWNE
My eyes are then no eyes, nor I Berowne. [230]
O, but for my love, day would turn to night!
Of all complexions the culled sovereignty
Do meet as at a fair in her fair cheek,
Where several worthies make one dignity,
Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek. [235]
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues -
Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not!
To things of sale a seller’s praise belongs:
She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot.
A withered hermit, five-score winters worn, [240]
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye.
Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,
And gives the crutch the cradle’s infancy.
O, ’tis the sun that makes all things shine!
KING
By heaven, thy love is black as ebony! [245]
BEROWNE
Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
A wife of such wood were felicity.
O, who can give an oath? Where is a book?
That I may swear beauty doth beauty lack
If that she learn not of her eye to look. [250]
No face is fair that is not full so black.
KING
O paradox! Black is the badge of hell,
The hue of dungeons, and the school of night;
And beauty’s crest becomes the heavens well.
