Sonnet XXIXWhen, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,I all alone beweep my outcast stateAnd trouble deaf heaven with my bootless criesAnd look upon myself and curse my fate,Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,With what I most enjoy contented least;Yet in these thoughts myself almost despisingHaply I think on thee, and then my state,Like to the lark at break of day arisingFrom sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth bringsThat then I scorn to change my state with kings. Sonnet XXIIIAs an unperfect actor on the stageWho 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 sayThe perfect ceremony of love's rite,And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,O'ercharged with burden of mine own love's might.O, let my books be then the eloquenceAnd dumb presagers of my speaking breast,Who plead for love and look for recompenseMore 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.