Ay, but her forehead’s low, and [mine’s as high].
190 What should it be that he respects in her,
But I can make respective in myself,
If this fond Love were not a blinded god?
Come, shadow, come, and take this shadow up,
For ’tis thy rival. O thou senseless form,
193 Thou shalt be worshipp’d, kiss’d, loved, and adored!
And, were there sense in his idolatry,
My substance should be [statue] in thy stead.
I’ll use thee kindly for thy mistress’ sake,