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1 " If I could write the beauty of your eyesAnd in fresh numbers number all your graces,The age to come would say “This poet lies;Such heavenly touches ne’er touch’d earthly faces. "
― William Shakespeare , Sonnet 17
2 " Who will believe my verse in time to come,If it were filled with your most high deserts?Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tombWhich hides your life, and shows not half your parts.If I could write the beauty of your eyes,And in fresh numbers number all your graces,The age to come would say 'This poet lies;Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.'So should my papers, yellowed with their age,Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue,And your true rights be termed a poet's rageAnd stretched metre of an antique song: But were some child of yours alive that time, You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme. "