Nor Shall Death Brag; Sonnet 18
Shall I compare thee to a Summers day? Thou art more louely and more temperate: Rough windes do ſhake the darling buds of Maie, And Sommers leaſe hath all too ſhorte a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heauen ſhines, And often is his gold complexion dimm’d, And euery faire from faire ſome-time declines, … More Nor Shall Death Brag; Sonnet 18


