So am I as the rich, whose blessed key Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, The which he will not every hour survey, For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. Therefore are feasts so solemn

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun, Coral is far more red than her lips' red, If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun, If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses

Lord of my love; to whom in vassalage Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit; To thee I send this written embassage; To witness duty; not to show my wit: Duty so great; which wit so poor as mine May make