Sonnet 130.

*forgive me Shakespeare, for I have amended your sonnet.* 

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than his lips' red;

If snow be white, why then his chests are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on his head.

I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,

But no such roses see I in his cheeks; 

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear he speak, yet well I know

That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

My mistress, when he walks, treads on the ground:

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any he belied with false compare.