To a Lady admiring Herself in a Looking-Glass

Fair lady, when you see the grace Of beauty in your looking-glass; A stately forehead, smooth and high, And full of princely majesty; A sparkling eye no gem so fair, Whose lustre dims the Cyprian star; A glorious cheek, divinely sweet, Wherein both roses kindly meet; A cherry lip that would entice Even gods to kiss at any price; You think no beauty is so rare That with your shadow might compare; That your reflection is alone The thing that men most dote upon. Madam, alas! your glass doth lie, And you are much deceived; for I A beauty know of richer grace (Sweet, be not angry), ’t is your face. Hence, then, O, learn more mild to be, And leave to lay your blame on me: If me your real substance move, When you so much your shadow love, Wise nature would not let your eye Look on her own bright majesty; Which, had you once but gazed upon, You could, except yourself, love none: What then you cannot love, let me, That face I can, you cannot see. Now you have what to love, you ’ll say, What then is left for me, I pray? My face, sweet heart, if it please thee; That which you can, I cannot see, So either love shall gain his due, Yours, sweet, in me, and mine in you.