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Act I, Scene 113

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  • Shakespeare. Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind; 1570
    And that which governs me to go about
    Doth part his function and is partly blind,
    Seems seeing, but effectually is out;
    For it no form delivers to the heart
    Of bird of flower, or shape, which it doth latch: 1575
    Of his quick objects hath the mind no part,
    Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch:
    For if it see the rudest or gentlest sight,
    The most sweet favour or deformed'st creature,
    The mountain or the sea, the day or night, 1580
    The crow or dove, it shapes them to your feature:
    Incapable of more, replete with you,
    My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue.

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