As an unperfect actor on the stage,Who with his fear is put beside his part,Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;So I for fear of trust, forget to say,The perfect ceremony of love's rite,And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might:

O let my looks be then the eloquence,And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,Who plead for love, and look for recompense,More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.

O learn to read what silent love hath writ,To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.