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you be fair and beautiful withal,

And I am black for which you me despise,

Know that your beauty subject is to fall,

Though you esteem it at so high a price.

And time may come when that whereof you boast,

Which is your youth's chief wealth and ornament,

Shall withered be by winter's raging frost,

When beauty's pride and flowering years are spent.

Then wilt thou mourn when none shall thee respect;

Then wilt thou think how thou hast scorned my tears;

Then pitiless each one will thee neglect,

When hoary grey shall dye thy yellow hairs;

Then wilt thou think upon poor Corin's case,

Who loved thee dear, yet lived in thy disgrace.