all dem sonnets up in yo' head!
let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest Now is the time that face should form another
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,    Which, used, lives th' executor to be.
!Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place With beauty's treasure ere it be self-killed.
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Make thee another self for love of me,    That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
Let those whom nature hath not made for store, Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:
Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck; And yet methinks I have Astronomy,
When I consider every thing that grows Holds in perfection but a little moment,
And fortify your self in your decay With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
If I could write the beauty of your eyes, And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
O! carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow, Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
How can I then return in happy plight, That am debarred the benefit of rest?
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee, When thou thy self dost give invention light? 