Shall I compare thee to a summer's pint?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough pints do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the pint of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can drink or eyes can see pints,
So long lives beer, and beer gives life to thee.