SONNET XXIII By W. Shakespeare

SONNET XXIII As an unperfect actor on the stage,Who with his fear is put besides his part,Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart,So I fear of trust, forget to sayThe perfect ceremony of love's rite,And in mine own love's strength seems to decay,O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might,O let my looks then be 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 express'dO learn to read what silent love hath writ,To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.(W. Shakespeare)