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hath
pyed
the
painter
and
hath
stelled,
Thy
beauty's
form
in
table
of
my
heart,
My
body
is
the
frame
wherein
'tis
held,
And
perspective
it
is
best
painter's
art.
For
through
the
painter
must
you
see
his
skill,
To
find
where
your
true
image
pictured
lies,
Whi
my
bosom's
shop
is
hanging
still,
That
hath
his
windows
gzed
with
thine
eyes:
Now
see
what
good
turns
eyes
for
eyes
have
done,
Mine
eyes
have
drawn
thy
shape,
and
thine
for
me
Are
win