| My Mistress' Eyes... My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lip's 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 damasked, red and whit, 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. William Shakespeare |
| Upon The Nipples of Julia's Breast Have ye beheld (with much delight) A red rose peeping through a white? Or else a cherry (double graced) Within a lilies centre placed? Or ever marked the pretty beam, A strawberry shewes half-drowned in cream? Or seen rich rubies blushing through A pure smooth pearl, and orient too? So like to this, nay all the rest, Is each neat niplet of her breast. |
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