Sonnet 23

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, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay
O’ercharg’d with burden of mine own love’s might
O let my books be then 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’d
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit