[ xxiii << ] [ >> xxv ] [ Change line numbering ]

William Shakespeare, Sonnet xxiv

Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath stell'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart. [*]
My body is the frame wherein 'tis held,
And perspective it is best painter's art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where you true image pictur'd lies,
Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done;
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art,
They draw but what the see, know not the heart.


line 2: Table: so in All's Well That Ends Well:

" 'Twas pretty, though a plague
To see him every hour; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table."
Table, though sometimes used in the sense of a picture, more commonly means the tabular surface upon which a picture is painted. [ Back to text ]

Most notes to Shakespeare's sonnets are from Charles Knight's edition, but those in square brackets are mine.