Do meet, as at a fair, in her fair cheek;
Where several worthies make one dignity,
Where nothing wants that want itself doth seek.
Lend me the flourish of all gentle tongues,—
235 Fie, painted rhetoric! O, she needs it not:
To things of sale a seller’s praise belongs,
[237] She passes praise; then praise too short doth blot.
A wither’d hermit, five-score winters worn,
Might shake off fifty, looking in her eye:
240 Beauty doth varnish age, as if new-born,