Monday, 23 June 2014
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 -
They've also blown away the garden gate.
Now all can see thou art not seemly dressed;
Uncovered are thy head, thy arms, thy feet.
And lo! the whole of one pert rosy breast
Is visible to all in yonder street.
What kind of lass lies down half-dressed, and poses
Beside the fountain, within sight of men?
Does thou, dear, think that thou art hid by roses?
In that case, p'raps thou shouldest think again.
I ask again, what kind of lass thou art?
But must conclude my lady is - a tart.
(With thanks to Tess at Magpie Tales for the picture)