Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. | 8
This silence for my sin you did impute, | 9
Which shall be most my glory, being dumb; | 10
For I impair not beauty being mute, | 11
When others would give life and bring a tomb. | 12
    There lives more life in one of your fair eyes | 13
    Than both your poets can in praise devise. | 14
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