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William Shakespeare, Sonnet cxli

In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
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Who in despite of view is pleased to dote.
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted;
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prine,
Nor taste nor smell, desire to be invited
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To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits, nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee.
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
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Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin, awards me pain.