1 And trust me, love, in my eye so do you.
2 Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye Than twenty of their swords.
3 An eagle, madam, Hath not so green, so quick, so fair an eye As Paris hath.
4 If I may trust the flattering eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.
5 I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow.'
6 Go thither and with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
7 I'll look to like, if looking liking move: But no more deep will I endart mine eye Than your consent gives strength to make it fly.
8 Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye, The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry, I must upfill this osier cage of ours With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
9 When the devout religion of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fire; And these who, often drown'd, could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars.
10 Alas poor Romeo, he is already dead, stabbed with a white wench's black eye; run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft.
11 Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye, And where care lodges sleep will never lie; But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
12 Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.
13 Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois'd with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now shows best.