CXXXI

    Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel； For well thou know'st to my dear doting¹ heart Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. Yet, in good faith, some say that thee behold², Thy face hath not the power to make love groan³； To say they err⁴ I dare not be so bold, Although I swear it to myself alone. And to be sure that is not false I swear, A thousand groans⁵, but thinking on thy face, One on another's neck, do witness bear Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place. In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, And thence this slander⁶, as I think, proceeds.