These blessed candles of the night.
From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive: They sparkle still the right Promethean fire; They are the books, the arts, the academes, That show, contain, and nourish all the world.
Those happy smilets, that played on her ripe lip, seemed not to know what guests were in her eyes; which parted thence, as pearls from diamonds dropped.
There was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in a glass.
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
