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This civil war of wits were much better used

On Navarre and his book-men, for here ’tis abused.

Boyet.

If my observation (which very seldom lies),

By the heart’s still rhetoric, disclosed with eyes,

Deceive me not now, Navarre is infected.

Prin.

With what?

Boyet.

With that which we lovers entitle ‘affected.’

Prin.

Your reason?

Boyet.

Why, all his behaviors did make their retire

To the court of his eye, peeping thorough desire:

His heart like an agot with your print impressed,

Proud with his form, in his eye pride expressed;

His tongue, all impatient to speak and not see,

Did stumble with haste in his eyesight to be;

All senses to that sense did make their repair,

To feel only looking on fairest of fair:

Methought all his senses were lock’d in his eye,

As jewels in crystal for some prince to buy,

Who tend’ring their own worth from where they were glass’d,

Did point you to buy them, along as you pass’d;

His face’s own margent did cote such amazes

That all eyes saw his eyes enchanted with gazes.