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| text: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun, |
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| text: Coral is far more red than her lips red. |
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| text: If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun, |
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| text: If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. |
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| text: I have seen roses damasked, red and white, |
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| text: But no such roses see I in her cheeks. |
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| text: And in some perfumes is there more delight |
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| text: Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. |
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| text: I love to hear her speak, yet well I know |
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| text: That music hath a far more pleasing sound. |
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| text: I grant I never saw a goddess go, |
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| text: My mistress when she walks, treads on the ground. |
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| text: And yet, by Heaven, I think my love as rare |
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| text: As any she belied with false compare. |
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