Poems

Sonnet 66: Tired With All These, For Restful Death I Cry by William Shakespeare

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,As to behold desert a beggar born,And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,And purest faith unhappily forsworn,And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,And strength by limping sway disablèdAnd art made tongue-tied by authority,And folly doctor-like controlling skill,And simple truth miscalled simplicity,And captive…