Sonnet #130

My mistress' eyes R nothing like d sun,
Coral is far more red, than her lips red,
If snow b white, y then her breasts R dun:
If hairs b wires, black wires grow on her head:
I hv Cn roses damasked, red & white,
bt no such roses C I in her cheeks,
& in sum perfumes is thr more delight,
Than in d breath th@ frm my mistress reeks.
I luv 2 hear her speak, yet well I know,
th@ music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress when she walks treads on d ground.
& yet by heaven I think my luv as rare,
As ne she belied wiv false compare.
See Original Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

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