O, how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might
To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame.
But since your worth, wide as the ocean is,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark, inferior far to his,
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat,
Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride;
Or, being wrecked, I am a worthless boat,
He of tall building, and of goodly pride.
Then if he thrive and I be cast away,
The worst was this: my love was my decay.
More verses by William Shakespeare
- Sonnet 62: Sin Of Self-Love Possesseth All Mine Eye
- Sonnet Cxii
- Sonnet 83: I Never Saw That You Did Painting Need
- Sonnet 45: The Other Two, Slight Air And Purging Fire
- Sonnet Cxlvii