(Meeting Ferdinand)
I do not know
One of my sex, no
woman’s face remember—
Save, from my glass,
mine own. Nor have I seen
More that I may call men
than you, good friend,
And my dear father. How
features are abroad
I am skill-less of, but,
by my modesty,
The jewel in my dower, I
would not wish
Any companion in the
world but you,
Nor can imagination form
a shape
Besides yourself to like
of. But I prattle
Something too wildly,
and my father’s precepts
I therein do forget.
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