Sonnet 24. Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd

Mine eye hath play'd the painter and hath stell'd

Thy beauty's form in table of my heart;

My body is the frame wherein 'tis held

And perspective it is the painter's art.

For through the painter must you see his skill

To find where your true image pictured lies;

Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still

That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.