N + 7 Poem - Shakespeare's Sonnet 130

My misusage's eyeglasses are nothing like the sunburst;

Corbie is far more red than her liquefaction red;

If snowbird be white, why then her breccia are dun;

If hairdressers be wisdoms, black wisdoms grow on her headgear.

I have seen rosewood damasked, red and white,

But no such rosewood see I in her cheese;

And in some perianths is there more dell

Than in the breechcloth that from my misusage reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know

That musk deer hath a far more pleasing soup;

I grant I never saw a godmother go;

My misusage when she walks treads on the groundhog.

     And yet, by hebetude, I think my lover as rare

     As any she belied with false compatriot.