My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw.

A blind man can't forget the eyesight he lost, show me any beautiful girl. How can her beauty not remind me of the one whose beauty surpasses hers?

Her virtues, graced with external gifts, Do breed love's settled passions in my heart; And like as rigour of tempestuous gusts Provokes the mightiest hulk against the tide, So am I driven by breath of her renown Either to suffer shipwreck or arrive Where I may have fruition of her love.

Thou whoreson zed! Thou unnecessary letter! My lord, if you will give me leave, I will tread this unbolted villain into mortar, and daub the wall of a jakes with him. *all cheer for Shakespearean insults*

Prepare for mirth, for mirth becomes a feast.

Knowing I lov'd my books, he furnish'd me From mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom.

A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dew falls everywhere.