O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give !
The rose looks fair , but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live
A perfumed tincture of the roses hang on such thorns and play a wantonly
When spring's breath their masked buds pop open
But for their virtue , only is their show
They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made

And so beauteous and lovely sister
Not marble nor the gilded monuments of Queens shall outlive this powerful rhyme
But you shall shine bright in this contents
Than unswept stone , besmear'd with sluttish time

When the wasteful tides of life shall legacies overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry
The living record of your memory
Gainst death and all oblivious emmity
Your good works shall still find room even in the eyes of strangers
So even till the judgement that yourself arise,
You live in this and dwell in thy brother's heart and eyes

Happy Birthday Sister !