Willia Shakespeare
Thy boso is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by ckg have supposed dead;
And there reigns Love and all Loves lovg parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How any a holy and obsequio tear
Hath dear religio love stoln fro e eye,
As terest of the dead, whioear
But thgs reovd that hiddenthee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of y lone,
Who all their parts ofto thee did give,
That due of any now is the alone:
Their iages I lovd, I viewthee,
And thou, all they, hast all the all of .