In Black Ink My Love May Still

One Pain Is Cured By Another. Catch Some New Infection In Your Eye And The Poison Of The Old One Would Die.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer Day? Thou Art More Lovely And More Temperate... When In Eternal Lines To Time Thou Growst So Long As Men Can Breathe Or Eyes Can See, So Long Lives This, And This Gives Life To Thee.

Spirits Are Not Finely Touched But To Fine Issues, Nor Nature Never Lends The Smallest Scruple Of Her Excellence But Like A Thrifty Goddess She Determines Herself The Glory Of A Creditor,both Thanks And Use.

My Falcon Now Is Sharp And Passing Empty, And Till She Stoop She Must Not Be Full-gorged, For Then She Never Looks Upon Her Lure.

Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?