A Response from Shakespeare's Mistress

My sir's eyes compare not to the light moon;

Clouds are far more soft than his lip's surface;

If flesh be bloom, why then his like a prune's;

If hairs be chords, dust chords flee his dermis.

I have seen poppies sharp, pink and scarlet,

But no such colors see I in his gills;

And in some fragrances is there more sparkle

Than in the stench that from my sir is spilled.

I love to hear his voice, yet I know well

That any tune hath a far more sweet call;

I vouch I ne'er saw an Earthen god dwell;

My sir sways upon drinking alcohol.

Now my beloved, why are you maddened?

For I feel the same, you ought be gladdened.

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