Sonnet Xxvi

William Shakespeare

     Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
     Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
     To thee I send this written embassage,
     To witness duty, not to show my wit:
     Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
     May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
     But that I hope some good conceit of thine
     In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it;
     Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
     Points on me graciously with fair aspect
     And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving,
     To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
     Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
     Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

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