Sonnet CXXX

An Asinine Classic

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 damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;     
And in some perfumes is there more delight     
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.     
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know     
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,—     
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:     
  And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare     
  As any she belied with false compare.

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