In the old age black was not counted fair, Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name； But now is black beauty's successive heir, And beauty slander'd with a bastard¹ shame： For since each hand hath put on Nature's power, Fairing the foul² with Art's false borrowed face, Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower³, But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace. Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven⁴ black, Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, Sland'ring creation with a false esteem⁵： Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe⁶, That every tongue says beauty should look so.