Sonnet CXXVII
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In the old age black was not counted fair, | 1
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name; | 2
But now is black beauty's successive heir, | 3
And beauty slander'd with a bastard shame: | 4
For since each hand hath put on nature's power, | 5
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face, | 6
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, | 7
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. | 8
Therefore my mistress' brows are raven black, | 9
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem | 10
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack, | 11
Slandering creation with a false esteem: | 12
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe, | 13
That every tongue says beauty should look so. | 14
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