Sonnet #108

wotz in d brain th@ ink may character,
Which hath nt figured 2 thee my true spirit,
wotz nu 2 speak, wot now 2 register,
th@ may express my luv, / thy dear merit?
Nothing sweet boy, bt yet like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er d very same,
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.
So th@ eternal luv in luvz fresh case,
Weighs nt d dust & injury of age,
Nor gives 2 necessary wrinkles place,
bt makes antiquity 4 aye his page,
Finding d first conceit of luv thr bred,
wr time & outward 4m wud show it dead.
See Original Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

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