Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Your beauty cannot compare to many women of my beloved Britannia;
So no, that is not grand enough for my princess of the fay,
For you are more beautiful than the greats: fair Juliet, Hermia and Queen Titania.
You have a strong spirit too, my sweet enchantress,
But you are without the arrogance of Lady Macbeth,
And you are one to rival the mischievous Puck or Benedict’s proud Beatrice;
While having the gentleness of Hero which takes away my breath.
I cannot compare myself to the heroic Marc Antony or Romeo;
You are more intelligent and perfect than Cleopatra,
And you deserve someone far nobler and greater than I, I know,
One who can give you more than this portrait of words that I draw.
However, my poor heart shall always beat and belong to thee,
As I write these words so that, for your love, I might finally be worthy.