Sonnet 66 by William Shakespeare Read by Sir John Gielgud

Tir d with all these, for restful death I cry, As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm d in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And guilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tonguetied by authority, And folly (doctorlike) controlling skill, And simple truth miscall d simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill: Tired with all these,