Act I, Scene 24

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• Shakespeare. 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, 325
  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. 330
  Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
  Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
  Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
  Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
  Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art; 335
  They draw but what they see, know not the heart.