Sonnet 141

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,

Who, in despite of view, is pleas'd to dote.

Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted;

Nor tender feeling to base touches prone.

Nor taste nor smell desire to be invited

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,

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.