Fear no more the heat o’ the sun; Nor the furious winter’s rages, Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages… Golden lads and girls all must,

All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely p… They have their exits and their en… And one man in his time plays many… His acts being seven ages. At fir…

Who will believe my verse in time… If it were fill’d with your most h… Though yet, heaven knows, it is bu… Which hides your life and shows no… If I could write the beauty of yo…

Accuse me thus: that I have scant… Wherein I should your great deser… Forgot upon your dearest love to c… Whereto all bonds do tie me day by… That I have frequent been with un…

Thus can my love excuse the slow o… Of my dull bearer, when from thee… From where thou art, why should I… Till I return, of posting is no n… O, what excuse will my poor beast…

Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird’s throat, Come hither, come hither, come hit…

The forward violet thus did I chi… Sweet thief, whence didst thou ste… If not from my love’s breath? The… Which on thy soft cheek for comple… In my love’s veins thou hast too g…

Love is too young to know what con… Yet who knows not conscience is bo… Then, gentle cheater, urge not my… Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet… For, thou betraying me, I do betr…

When forty winters shall besiege t… And dig deep trenches in thy beaut… Thy youth’s proud livery, so gazed… Will be a tatter’d weed, of small… Then being ask’d where all thy bea…

Mine eye hath played the painter a… Thy beauty’s form in table of my h… My body is the frame wherein ’tis… And perspective it is best painter… For through the painter must you s…