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William Shakespeare - Sonnet 124: "If my dear love were but the child of state,..."
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If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune`s bastard be unfathered,
As subject to Time`s love or to Time`s hate,
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered.
No, it was builded far from accident;
It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls
Under the blow of thralled discontent,
Whereto th` inviting time our fashion calls:
It fears not policy, that heretic,
Which works on leases of short-number`d hours,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers.
To this I witness call the fools of time,
Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.
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