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CXXXVII.
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes,
That they behold, and see not what they see?
They
know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the
best is take the worst to be.
If eyes corrupt by
over-partial looks
Be anchor'd in the bay where all
men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged
hooks,
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied?
Why should my heart think that a several plot
Which
my heart knows the wide world's common place?
Or mine
eyes seeing this, say this is not,
To put fair truth
upon so foul a face?
In things right true my heart
and eyes have erred,
And to this false plague are
they now transferr'd.
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