1 Thus from my lips, by thine my sin is purg'd.
2 Life and these lips have long been separated.
3 Then have my lips the sin that they have took.
4 Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
5 A gentler judgment vanish'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment.
6 O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do: They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
7 Beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
8 No warmth, no breath shall testify thou livest, The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes; thy eyes' windows fall, Like death when he shuts up the day of life.
9 They may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand, And steal immortal blessing from her lips, Who, even in pure and vestal modesty Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin.
10 I conjure thee by Rosaline's bright eyes, By her high forehead and her scarlet lip, By her fine foot, straight leg, and quivering thigh, And the demesnes that there adjacent lie, That in thy likeness thou appear to us.