Sonnet 23
b'
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\\u2019s abundance weakens his own heart,
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love\\u2019s rite,
And in mine own love\\u2019s strength seem to decay,
O\\u2019ercharg\\u2019d with burden of mine own love\\u2019s 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\\u2019d.
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
\\xa0\\xa0\\xa0 To hear with eyes belongs to love\\u2019s fine wit.