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And will she yet abase her eyes on me,
That cropped the golden prime of this sweet prince
255And made her widow to a woeful bed?
On me, whose all not equals Edward’s moiety?
On me, that halts and am misshapen thus?
My dukedom to a beggarly denier,
I do mistake my person all this while!
260Upon my life, she finds, although I cannot,
Myself to be a marv'lous proper man.
I’ll be at charges for a looking glass
And entertain a score or two of tailors
To study fashions to adorn my body.
265Since I am crept in favor with myself,
I will maintain it with some little cost.
But first I’ll turn yon fellow in his grave
And then return lamenting to my love.
Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
270That I may see my shadow as I pass.
And yet she cheapens herself by turning her gaze on me, who cut her sweet prince’s life short and made her a widow? On me, though I am barely half the man that Edward was? On me, though I am limping and deformed? I bet I’ve been wrong about myself all this time. Even though I don’t see it, this lady thinks I’m a marvelously good-looking man. Time to buy myself a mirror and employ a few dozen tailors to dress me up in the current fashions. Since I’m suddenly all the rage, it will be worth the cost. But first, I’ll dump this fellow in his grave, then return to my love weeping with grief. Come out, beautiful sun—until I’ve bought a mirror to admire my reflection in, I’ll watch my shadow as I stroll along.
He exits.