Best Sonnet of Shakespeare: Sonnet 66
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimmed in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honor shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disablèd,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill.
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that to die, I leave my love alone.
Note:
No plan or work of format or structure, the poet sings freely and truthfully, there are many sonnets well planned, but this so true that not many poets could say it and it is eternal truth for our society in any era, and the last line is our purpose why we don't exit.
