Sonnet #132

Thine eyes I luv, & they as pitying me,
Knowing thy heart torment me wiv disdain,
hv put on black, & loving mourners be,
Looking wiv pretty ruth upon my pain.
& truly nt d morning sun of heaven
Better becomes d grey cheeks of d east,
Nor th@ full * th@ ushers in d even
Doth half th@ glory 2 d sober west
As those 2 mourning eyes become thy face:
O let it then as well beCm thy heart
2 mourn 4 me since mourning doth thee grace,
& suit thy pity like in every part.
Then will I swear beauty herself is black,
& all they foul th@ thy complexion lack.
See Original Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

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