Shall I compare thee to a cloggèd lane?
The king’s road should but flowe with ease,
But here the horses lurch and strain.
Or to a danse, if yt you please?
Thou duck in darkened corners, meek,
And shirk the beat in stagnant pain.
Or to a drunkèn captain’s fleet
with no North Star in night’s terrain?
And too few knots to stay the course.
Or to the gnarled oxen’s knees
That lumber through the blooming gorse?
Whose remedie the swell doth ease.
Or to a world together held by modesty in vain
while you stand out as painfully as an Americain.