In thine soft eyes mine portrait brightly shines
when close to thee I gaze upon thy face,
so with return do gaze upon these lines
and much more than thine outline thou shalt trace.
How should I begin; Shakespeare's summer's day?
a summer's day is scant compare to thee,
more like are thou a thousand days of May
when Nature at her best is there to see.
Yet this sonnet is all that I can give,
these fourteen lines upon this vellum plain
and what compare is this while thou dost live —
'tis like the rose without its scarlet stain.
O, scant regard give Shakespeare's sunny clime
when thou exceed all Seasons thru' my rhyme.

Let other Poets write of their sweet Loves
and talk of them as though a goddess true,
as though she were surrounded by white doves
while other birds sing from the summer blue.
And Kings; O let them have their sov'reigns gold,
full-stamp'd with their proud portrait finely wrought,
for though a portrait bright 'tis ever cold —
a worthless prize unlook'd for and unsought.
So let the Poets sit and dream and think
and let proud Kings count their golden treasure,
for thy rich beauty shines thru' this black ink
making this page priceless beyond measure —
Leave Kings to count and Poets down to sit
if this not true in truth I never writ.