Who Soars Too Near The Sun, With

My Tongue Will Tell The Anger Of My Heart, Or Else My Heart Concealing It Will Break.

Angels And Ministers Of Grace Defend Us.

Having My Freedom, Boast Of Nothing Else.

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, And Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short A Date . . .

Methought I Was Enamour'd Of An Ass.