240 
SHAKESPEARE'S GARDEN 
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day ? 
Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date. 
S. xviii. 
Let those who are in favour with their stars 
Of public honour and proud titles boast, 
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, 
Unlook’d for joy in that I honour most. 
Great princes’ favourites their fair leaves spread 
But as the marigold at the sun’s eye, 
And in themselves their pride lies buried, 
For at a frown they in their glory die. 
S. xxv. 
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done ; 
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud ; 
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, 
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. 
S. xxxv. 
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. 
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye 
As the perfumed tincture of the roses, 
Hang on such thorns and play as wantonly 
When summer’s breath their masked buds discloses : 
They live unwoo’d, and unrespected fade, 
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ; 
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made. 
S. liv, 
Ah ! wherefore with infection should he live, 
And with his presence grace impiety, 
That sin by him advantage should achieve 
And lace itself with his society ? 
Why should false painting imitate his cheek, 
And steal dead seeing of his living hue ? 
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek 
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true ? 
Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is, 
Beggar’d of blood to blush through lively veins ? 
S. lxvii. 
How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow, 
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show! 
S. xciii. 
