Sonnet #66

Tired wiv all these 4 restful death I cry,
As 2 behold desert a beggar born,
& needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
& purest faith unhappily 4sworn,
& gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
& maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
& right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
& strength by limping sway disabled
& art made tongue-tied by authority,
& folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,
& simple truth miscalled simplicity,
& captive good attending captain ill.
Tired wiv all these, frm these wud I b gone,
Save th@ 2 die, I leave my luv alone.
See Original Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

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